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The Captain Becky Series 


CAPTAIN BECKY’S WINTER CRUISE 


1 


\ 





•*1 









‘ ‘ This is my father, ’ ’ 


SAID Lewis, at last 





Captain Becky’s 
Winter Cruise 

BY 

Margaret Love Sanderson 



The Reilly & Britton Co. 
Chicago 



Copyright, 1912 
by 

The Reilly & Britton Co. 


Captain Becky’s Winter Cruise. 



igCi.A31G695 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEE PAGE 

I ^‘Peksonal Mention’^ 7 

n Becky Visits A Newspaper Office. . . 17 

III Lewis Ahlswede Becomes a Hero . . 27 

IV The Eeward of Indiscretion 37 

V A New Hand at the Wheel 47 

VI Captain O’Connor’s Strange Con- 
tract 58 

VET A Novel Winter Cruise 68 

VIII Fitting Up the Olivette 78 

IX Another Boy Appears 86 

X Orange Blossom Diplomacy 97 

XI Mrs. O’Connor Serves Coffee 109 

XII Becky’s Plot Thickens 121 

Xni The Stratagem of the Lost Letters . 131 

XIV Lewis Does Some Figuring 141 

XV A Sail AT Last 151 

XVI The French King’s Treasure 162 

XVII A Peril and a Eescue 175 

XVIII Jupiter Jim’s Treasure 187 

XIX Waiting for a Fair Wind 199 

XX Through the Narrows 209 

XXI The Stranded Schooner 219 

XXII Schuyler Hatton Takes an Oath. .231 

XXIII The Island in the Marsh 243 


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CAPTAIN BECKY’S WINTER 
CRUISE 

CHAPTER I 
‘‘personal mention’’ 

Marjorie Beckwith had always been known as 
“Becky.” She did not come to be known as 
‘‘Captain Becky” until after the time this story 
begins. And it began on a morning in March in 
the little town of Melbourne, in Florida. 

Breakfast was just over in the little hotel on 
the high bank of the wide, silvery Indian Eiver. 
Becky, having reached the Southland only the 
night before, caught her first glimpse of the river 
when she arose. With her aunt on the hotel gal- 
lery calling to her, the excited girl, hatless and 
coatless, fled along the blutf path to the river 
below. 

“I’m going to see the boats,” she answered, her 
hair flying in the breeze. 

“But don’t run,” repeated her aunt. “Ee- 
member ! ” 

Whatever the meaning of this, the girl paused, 
7 


8 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


nodded, and then, drawing the collar of her sailor 
blouse closer to a slender, round throat, turned 
and walked sedately down the path. 

At its end she came out where the one street of 
the village merged into a long pier. Opposite this 
stood a frame building, partly over the water 
— ^the general store of the town. A man was 
sprinkling the worn board walk about the store. 

‘ ^ Do they let folks go out there ? ^ ’ asked Becky. 

‘ ^ Sure, ’ ’ answered the sprinkler. ‘ ‘ That ’s what 
it^s for. But keep a lookout. Some o’ the boards 
is missin’.” 

^‘Is this your store!” asked the girl, thanking 
the man, who had already noticed the lint-like 
tangle of Becky’s hair. 

‘^Yes’m,” he answered. ‘‘You must o’ just 
come, I reckon. Where are you stoppin ’ ! ” 

“Up there,” smiled the girl, pointing to the 
hotel. ‘ ‘ Mrs. Fairfield is my aunt. ’ ’ 

“Oh, Mrs. Fairfield!” exclaimed the store 
owner. “Sure. She’s been cornin’ here reg’lar 
a good many years. She trades with me consid- 
erable.” 

With a longing look at the deserted pier and 
another toward the store, in front of which were 
anchors, seines, boat oars, cables, and boxes of 
pineapples, cocoanuts and oranges, Becky ex- 
claimed : 


Personal Mention^ ^ 


9 


‘ ‘ Do you mind if I look in your shop ! ^ ’ 

‘‘Help yourself/^ the man answered good- 
naturedly. “I seen about your cornin’, in the 
Times.'* ^ 

‘ ‘ Me ? In the newspaper ? ’ ’ 

“Sure. Mebbe I can find it an’ show you. I 
mos’ gen ’rally save the Times.** 

The girl looked at the storekeeper in a half 
frightened way. 

“Me?” she repeated. 

Without answering, the man started toward the 
store door. Becky hesitated and then, her temples 
suddenly red, threw back her shoulders and fol- 
lowed. In the doorway her courage failed her. 

“What are these?” she exclaimed suddenly, 
pointing to a pile of pink-hearted conch shells. 

“Them?” replied the merchant. “Oh, that’s 
junk — Bahama curios — some o’ Cap O’Connor’s 
rubbish. Here it is,” he added, coming from 
behind the counter. ‘ ‘ I thought I ’d find it. Here ’s 
the piece.” 

Becky set her lips and grew busy with her col- 
lar. The color on her temples was spreading to 
her cheeks. She wanted to run away. 

“I’d buy one of these shells,” she said, as if 
she hadn’t heard, “but I haven’t my purse. I’ll 
come again ” 

“Take a shell for a suv’neer,” exclaimed the 


10 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

storekeeper, absently; ‘Hbey ain’t no sale for 
’em. Here it is. Ain’t yon Miss Marjorie Beck- 
with o’ Chicago?” 

‘‘Yes,” almost mumbled the girl. Then she 
reached for the folded paper — a little country 
sheet — and read, under the heading of “Personal 
Mention”: 

“Miss Marjorie Beckwith, the daughter of a 
millionaire manufacturer of Chicago, will arrive 
in Melbourne next week, the guest of her aunt, 
Mrs. J. B. Fairfield, who is a regular winter guest 
at the Coquina Hotel. Miss Beckwith is one of 
the society beauties of the Windy City, and her 
arrival in the queen of Indian Eiver resorts will 
be followed by a round of social festivities in 
honor of the beautiful guest. ’ ’ 

Calmly as Becky tried to read these lines, her 
courage oozed from her. With hands suddenly 
cold, she thrust the paper back and tried to laugh, 
but her lips only trembled. 

“Mr. ” she said at last, her throat swelling. 

“Carlson, Pete Carlson,” exclaimed the store- 
keeper. 

“Well, I’m much obliged, Mr. Carlson,” went 
on Becky. “You see, it’s all a joke. Some one is 
making fun of me.” 

‘ ‘ How ’s that ? ’ ’ asked Mr. Carlson. ‘ ‘ They give 
parties for all o ’ the young ladies. ’ ’ 


** Personal Mention^ ^ 


11 


‘‘I don’t mean that,” went on Becky, ‘^bnt the 
rest. My father isn ’t a millionaire. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh, well,” conceded the storekeeper. “I 
reckon the newspapers always exaggerate a 
little. ’ ’ 

“Exaggerate!” exclaimed Becky, trying to 
laugh. “It’s worse than that. Do I look like a 
‘society beauty’?” 

“Mebbe you are a little young,” chuckled the 
man. 

“A little young?” repeated Becky, frightened 
anew as she thought of her chums. “I’m not six- 
teen. We’re not in society. We couldn’t be. 
I ” Then she turned away in absolute con- 

fusion. 

“You can have the paper, miss,” called the 
shopkeeper. 

“It’s all a story,” exclaimed the girl, her feel- 
ings overcoming her. “I don’t want it, thank 
you. ’ ’ Then she almost ran from the store. 

Her first thought was of her aunt. Then she 
felt a tear on her cheek, and she fled to the pier. 
Here, ashamed and mortified, she let the tears 
come, sobbing now and then. 

Storekeeper Carlson watched Becky with a won- 
dering gaze. He could understand how the item 
might be wrong, but he could not understand why 
the girl should be so upset by it. “Mebbe,” he 


12 Captain Becky* s Winter Cruise 

thought, she’s too young. But she’s got ear- 
marks o’ settin’ ’em goin’ a little later.” 

Becky was not -beautiful, but she certainly had 
what Mr. Carlson called earmarks.” She was 
not taller than girls of her own age, but she had 
the appearance of being so because of her slim 
form. While her face was not pinched, there was 
a narrowness to it that gave the girl a delicate 
look, although not of ill health. This was accentu- 
ated by cheek bones somewhat higher than the 
ordinary and yet, in themselves, not pronounced. 

When she smiled Becky had a way of compress- 
ing her lips in a straight line. Then when her 
smile ended in a laugh, she had a childish habit of 
covering her mouth with her fingers. When the 
laugh became hilarious she had another habit of 
crossing her arms on her chest in a French shrug 
of the shoulders — an infectious mannerism that 
her mother had long tried to correct. 

‘ ‘ She ’s sure got a strikin ’ face, ’ ’ concluded Mr. 
Carlson. ‘^Kind o’ like one o’ them beauties o’ 
the Orient.” 

By this the merchant evidently referred to 
Becky’s eyes. She had good eyebrows which did 
not droop. These and her eyes and high cheeks 
gave her always an eager, wistful look. Mr. 
Carlson certainly did not refer to her hair, which 
was not at all in keeping with her dark eyes. This 


Personal Mention^ ^ 


13 


was of a tint that should have made her a blond. 
Her mother called it golden. Some of her chums 
said it was yellow. In reality it was so lint-like in 
texture that in the sunlight its light brown strands 
took on some of the glow of amber. 

A few hundred feet out on the pier the sobbing 
girl almost stumbled over a little tram car. Arous- 
ing herself, Becky sat down on the edge of the 
car. Then she looked about, got a view of the 
water, drank in consciously for the first time the 
invigorating salt air — the sea itself was only 
beyond the far bank of the river— and then 
again caught sight of the schooner that had set 
her on her morning adventure. 

This seemed to calm her. She dried her eyes 
upon her skirt, tucked in her loose hair, choked 
once more, and her cry was done. Then she began 
to wonder why she had been crying. She under- 
stood at once. It was because other people had 
probably seen the little item. 

‘ ‘ They dl know it isn T true when they see me, ’ ’ 
said Becky to herself, ‘^and I donT care about 
that. But they won’t know what my coming 
meant to father and mother. It sounds as if I 
were pretending and ashamed because I had to 
come, and we had to rake and scrape so that I 
could.” 

Becky sat upright, her eyes wide now and the 


14 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


color gone out of her temples. Then she sprang 
to her feet, smoothed the straight folds of her 
new sailor suit, and walked briskly back along 
the runway. She gave little heed to her loosened 
collar, her clinging skirts or her wind-swept hair. 
Mr. Carlson, now busy plying his broom, was 
startled when Becky’s voice again made him turn. 

‘‘If you don’t mind, Mr. Carlson, I’d like to 
have the paper,” said the girl. 

‘ ‘ Sure, miss, ’ ’ exclaimed the surprised sweeper. 
“You’re welcome. If it was me, I’d cut the piece 
out an’ put it in my scrapbook, only I ain’t got 
none. Advertisin ’ don ’t hurt no one. When I get 
anything in the Times it costs me ten cents a line, 
cash, an’ that’s too high ” 

“I haven’t any scrapbook, either, Mr. Carlson,” 
interrupted Becky. “But I’d like to have the 
paper. I’ll bring it back ” 

“Don’t you do it,” chuckled the storekeeper. 
“I been savin’ a file o’ that paper a long time, 
hopin’ it would come in handy, an’ this is the 
first time it ever did, exceptin’ for cleanin’ lamp 
chimbleys. ’ ’ 

As Mr. Carlson handed her the paper, Becky 
folded it, the ‘ ‘ Personal Mention ’ ’ column outside. 

“Where’s the place they print iff” she asked. 

“It’s up the street three doors this side o’ the 
depot, ’ ’ Mr. Carlson answered, slowly. ‘ ‘ But say, 


'^Personal Mention^ ^ 


15 


miss, you ain’t goin’ to horsewhip the editor?” 

‘^Oh, no,” Becky laughed. ‘^Chicago society 
beauties don’t do that. I just want to ask the 
man about it.” 

‘‘I’ll have him come down here,” volunteered 
the storekeeper. ‘ ‘ He ’ll think I want to give him 
an ad.” 

“I won’t bother you,” laughed Becky again. 
“But” — and she hesitated — “you said I might 
have one of those shells.” 

‘ ‘ Sure, ’ ’ exclaimed the amused Mr. Carlson. 
‘ ‘ Many as you like. I think them shells is holdin ’ 
back trade. They ain’t nothin’ doin’ in shells 
this year, anyway,” he went on, with pretended 
soberness. “Conchs are Jonahs, an’ them are 
the last ’at ol ’ Cap 0 ’Connor is goin ’ to stick me 
with. These ain’t even good singers ” 

“Singers?” repeated the innocent Becky, for- 
getting her mission to the Times. “What are 
‘ singers ’ ? ” 

“Listen,” explained the curio dealer, selecting 
a large, pink-hearted conch that he held to Becky ’s 
ear. “Hear it?” 

“I hear a little humming noise.” 

“You ought to hear a reg’lar song — ‘the song 
o’ the coral deeps,’ accordin’ to the books. 
Somethin’ o’ that kind is in all conchs. But 


16 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Cap 0 ’Connor shells can’t do no better ’n buzz 
like a sick fly. When I get a reg’lar full-toned 
singin’ shell, I’ll show you the ditfer’nce. Why, 
I’ve heard ’em almost talk. But you got to pick 
’em right. I had four of ’em once that was purty 

near a reg’lar quartette ” 

‘‘Mr. Carlson, you’re making fun of me!” 
“Well,” smiled the man, “mebbe I’m a little 
like that fellow ’at runs the Times.'* ^ 

“What do you mean?” 

“I reckon we’re both just exercisin’ our imagi- 
nations a little — not meanin ’ no harm. ’ ’ 

Becky’s eyes closed a trifle, but she could npt 
resist one of her straight-lipped smiles. She 
stopped short of a laugh, however. 

“You’ve been awfully good to me, Mr. Carlson. 
I ’m coming again, when I have my purse. ’ ’ 

“Your credit at Carlson’s is what you might 
call A-1,” answered the merchant, with a grin. 
“Thank you,” replied the girl. 

As the curio vender took Becky’s hand he said, 
with only a faint smile this time: 

‘ ‘ Hadn ’t you better take your shell to the hotel 
now?” 

“I’ve got business first,” exclaimed Becky. 
And without more words she set otf up the street, 
the folded Times in her hand and the big conch 
shell under her arm. 


CHAPTEE II 

BECKY VISITS A NEWSPAPER OFFICE 

As Becky made her way up the board walk, the 
conch shell under her arm and the newspaper 
swinging like a danger signal, she took time to 
look about. 

Midway to the depot and across the street she 
caught sight of a one- story building with a trian- 
gular sign : ^ ‘ The Daubigny Sisters. ’ ’ The hurry- 
ing girl paused, and then tiptoed quickly through 
the dust to the other side of the street. 

One window was vacant. In the other lay a 
heap of embroidered pieces — napkins, doilies, and 
hanging above them, a shirt waist of lawn. 

‘‘French seamstresses,’^ thought Becky, her 
eyes on the shirt waist. “I wonder what it’s 
worth ! ’ ’ 

She flattened her nose against the pane, while 
the dust-laden window sill drew a bar across her 
chest. Even the Times slipped into the back- 
ground for the moment. Her eyes caught a sign 
written on pasteboard: “Dressmaking, Pies and 
Cakes.” 


17 


18 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Near this, on a white platter, were a dozen 
brown patties of sugary stuff, thick with pecan 
nuts. Becky darted to the door and threw it 
open. Instantly there was the loud jangle of a 
bell. The girl was ready to retreat, when a voice 
sounded in the rear. 

^ ^ Come in, ’ ’ exclaimed a little woman with gray 
liair. 

‘ ‘ I am in, ’ ^ replied Becky, with a relieved laugh, 
wanted to know what those are,^^ and she 
pointed to the patties. 

‘ ‘ The pralines I ’ ’ asked the little woman. 

‘‘It^s candy, isn’t it?” continued Becky. 

Pecan pralines,” explained the woman; ^^a 
dozen fo’ two bits or one fo’ nothin’.” (She pro- 
nounced them ‘‘pucawn prawlines.”) 

‘^That’s two for five cents, isn’t it?” asked the 
girl, making a quick calculation. 

As the woman nodded she handed a sugary disk 
to the hungry Becky. 

‘‘I’ll take two of them, thank you,” began the 
girl, as she slipped the copy of the Times to her 
left hand. Then, with the candy halfway to her 
open mouth, Becky’s hand fell. 

“Oh, I forgot! I haven’t any money,” she 
exclaimed. 

Without comment, the little woman took Becky’s 
hand in hers and lifted the praline to the startled 


19 


Becky Visits a Newspaper Office 

girPs month. With a relieved laugh, Becky sank 
her teeth into the candy. She nibbled about to 
get a good mouthful, and then there was a gurgle 
of delight. 

‘‘Oh, it^s just grand!’’ she mumbled, her mouth 
full of crumbling sweetness. 

Becky’s eyes made a survey of the shop. At 
this stage, with the praline on a second trip to 
her mouth, Becky’s hand stopped and she sprang 
forward for a view out of the other window. Diag- 
onally across the street was a two-story building, 
with a big window below. On this were the words : 
‘ ‘ Melbourne W eekly Times. ’ ’ A man who had his 
back to the street, and who seemed to be locking 
the door, was just leaving the place. 

With a swish of her skirts that startled the 
shopkeeper, Becky sprang toward the door. 
Laden with the shell, her newspaper and the 
half-eaten praline, the girl dashed across the 
street. The person locking the door proved to 
be a boy, scarcely older than Becky. 

“I want to go in there!” announced the girl, 
readjusting the shell and newspaper and making 
a stab at her hair with the back of the hand 
holding the candy. 

“Yes’m,” responded the boy, apparently star- 
tled, as he turned again to the door. Before he 
unlocked the door he turned for another look at 


20 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

the girl. One glance and all his fingers became 
thumbs. In spite of her perspiring face and the 
dust on her dress and new toe slippers, Becky 
was enough to upset any boy of sixteen or seven- 
teen. She was not the first northern girl this 
boy had seen, but she was the first one that had 
swooped down and spoken to him. 

‘‘I want to see the editor of this paper, went 
on Becky, emphatically, as she examined the boy. 
His face was scarlet, but the girl saw that he 
was not bad looking. In spite of his country-cut 
clothes, a blue necktie in a flowing bow and a soft 
white shirt gave him a touch out of the common- 
place. But his hands and wrists were black, as 
if unwashed. 

‘‘The owner ainT here, miss,’’ explained the 
boy. 

“Maybe he isn’t the one I’ve come to see,” 
answered the girl. The other, pausing in unlock- 
ing the door, tried to pull down his too short 
sleeves. “Do you work here?” continued Becky. 

“Yes’m,” answered the boy. “I’m the com- 
positor.” 

Becky, seeing the boy much embarrassed, took 
a bite of her praline. The boy’s eyes followed the 
movement of her arm. 

“Purty good?” he asked, with a sudden grin. 


21 


Becky Visits a Newspaper Office 

Then, as if frightened, he drew out a handker- 
chief and mopped his face. 

Ignoring the familiarity, Becky remarked : 

‘‘Compositor? Do you compose the pieces in 
the Times.'* ^ 

“I mean I’m the typesetter. But, sometimes,” 
the hoy added, “I report, too.” 

‘ ‘ Eeport what ? ’ ’ 

“I get local ads and items about new arrivals.” 

“ ‘Personal Mention’ items?” exclaimed Becky, 
quickly. The boy opened the door and the girl 
swept into the office. 

“Yes, personals and sometimes reg’lar pieces.” 

For a moment Becky seemed not to hear his 
answer. She was examining the room. Her gaze 
had rested on an advertisement hanging on the 
wall — the picture of a girl standing by the steer- 
ing wheel of a yacht. The picture girl was in 
reefer and cap. Below were the words: “The 
Queen of the Fleet.” There was a longing look 
of admiration in Becky’s face. Then she recalled 
her errand. Placing the shell and the remnant 
of praline on the table, she straightened out her 
copy of the Times. 

‘ ‘ Oh, do you ? Did you write that ? ’ ’ 

The boy hesitated, as if afraid to come closer 
to the girl. 


22 


Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 


persisted Becky, jabbing her sugary 
finger on the item. 

^‘Is that the Times ? mumbled the boy. 

course it^s the Times. Did you write 

thatr’ 

‘‘Why, yes,” he managed to answer, after a 
look. ‘ ‘ I fixed it up. WTiat ’s the matter with it I ” 
he added, with more boldness. 

‘ ‘ Matter ! ’ ^ snapped Becky. ‘ ‘ Huh ! I wish you ’d 
tell me who told you all that ! That ’s me ! ” 

“You!” exclaimed the boy. 

“Yes, me! IDs a story. Every word of it’s 
wrong!” And she slapped the paper on the table. 

“Are you Miss Beckwith?” asked the boy, 
suddenly. 

“I’m Marjorie Beckwith. Just tell me why you 
put that in the paper. ’ ’ 

“Mrs. Fairfield told me.” 

“All that?” exclaimed the girl, as she slapped 
her hand on the paper. “Did she say my father 
was a millionaire?” 

“I thought she did,” answered the Times rep- 
resentative, wetting his lips. 

‘ ‘ But did she ? She couldn ’t. He isn ’t. ’ ’ 

“That’s what St. Augustine papers always say 
about the guests at the Ponce de Leon.” 

“Oh, they do!” almost sneered the girl. “I 


23 


Bechy Visits a Newspaper Office 

suppose they always say their daughters are 
‘society beauties’?’’ 

“Most gener’ly, if they’re young ladies.” 

“Well, why did you say 1 was a ‘society 
beauty’?” 

“I was up to the hotel last week pickin’ up 
items,” faltered the boy, “an’ she told me her 
niece was cornin’, an’ she told me your name.” 

‘ ‘ But why did you put it in that I was a ‘ society 
beauty’?” insisted Becky, punctuating the words 
with finger stabs on the table. “And make me 
foolish,” she added, as a clinching rebuke. 

“Well, she showed me your picture.” 

For a moment the positive girl stood open- 
mouthed. 

“My picture?” 

“Yes, sir — yes’m, I mean.” 

“She hasn’t got my picture!” 

“She said it was you; that’s all I know.” For 
the first time the boy seemed relieved. 

“Pshaw!” came from the girl, who was now 
confused herself. “ I know that old thing. That’s 
when I was the queen in our school play. Was it 
that picture that made you say it?” 

“Well,” retorted the boy, “she didn’t tell me 
nothin’ about that. It looked to me like a picture 
o’ some one dressed up for a swell ball.” 

Becky ’s mouth twitched. Some of her worked-up 


24 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

indignation suddenly escaped her and her temples 
flushed. 

^‘Look at me,’^ she exclaimed at last, as if to 
prove the enormity of the Times error. As she 
did so herself and caught sight of the still promi- 
nent bar of dust on her waist, her dust-covered 
slippers and candy-spotted fingers, she made sev- 
eral quick dabs at her breast. ‘^I’m not sixteen, 
nobody calls me ‘miss,’ and there’s no excuse to 
make a fool of me by printing anything that will 
make folks think I’m what you said — or ever 
going to be. So there ! ’ ’ 

“I wrote it like it’s in the big papers.” 

“Well, you unwrite it,” ordered Becky, shifting 
her position to hide her dusty slippers, and grow- 
ing positive again. 

“You mean you want a correction?” 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s another item sayin’ the first one was 
wrong. It’s where the reg’lar editor says ‘owin’ 
to a mistake o’ the compositor the paper said 
something it hadn’t ought. But say,” went on 
the boy, with his first indication of composure, 
“there’s another kind of item we print some- 
times. ’ ’ 

The boy disappeared and presently returned 
with a bit of cardboard on which were pasted 
various sized clippings from newspapers.” 


Becky Visits a Newspaper Office 


25 


you care to set down/’ lie said, as he 
wheeled a chair to where the girl stood, ‘‘I’ll 
fix it.” 

“Thank you,” answered Becky. As the boy 
went to the litter ed-up desk, the girl deftly 
brushed her slippers on her stockings. 

“I don’t know if this’ll suit you,” said the boy 
at last, as he handed the girl a bit of paper. He 
noticed Becky examining again the picture of the 
“Queen of the Fleet.” 

“That’s a dandy picture,” was Becky’s com- 
ment. 

“We got some clean ones, if you want one,” 
ventured the boy, with alacrity. 

“I would like one, if you can spare it.” 

While the somewhat relieved Times representa- 
tive began rummaging in a drawer, Becky took 
the paper and read : 

Personal Mention , — As foretold in these col- 
umns last week, Miss Marjorie Beckwith of Chi- 
cago arrived in Melbourne this week on an indefi- 
nite stay. This charming and accomplished girl 
bids fair to add much to the gayety of the season’s 
program.” 

“How’s that? It’s from a Jacksonville paper. 
It sounds swell to me,” exclaimed the boy, as he 
produced a clean copy of the “Queen of the 
Fleet.” 


26 


Captain Becky’s Winter Cruise 

won’t do at all,” Becky answered instantly, 
shaking her head. ‘‘Oh, thank yon,” she added, 
as the black-fingered boy laid the colored print 
before her. “I love girl pictures. Here,” she 
switched to the writing again, “yon don’t think 
I’d say ‘charming and accomplished,’ do yon?” 

“Yon ain’t sayin’ it. They always say that in 
the city papers. ’ ’ 

“Well, it seems like I’m saying it.” 

‘ ‘ But you ain ’t. It ’s the Times. ’ ’ 

“It sounds foolish,” commented the girl, after 
a pause, as if in doubt. 

“I tell you,” insisted the boy, “you don’t need 
to take it personal if you don’t want to. But 
if society items don’t say somethin’ like that, 
people ’d think somethin’ was the matter. That 
ain’t nothin’ to what you could say!” 

“Well,” Becky conceded at last, “rub out that 
‘Miss.’ When will it be printed!” 

“Wednesday.” 

“What’s your name!” she asked abruptly as 
she gathered up her shell and the picture. 

“Lewis Ahlswede.” 

“I’m much obliged, Mr. Ahlsweet,” continued 
Becky. 

“Ahlswede,” corrected the boy, in confusion. 

‘ ‘ Ahlswede, ’ ’ she replied, with a laugh. ‘ ‘ Good- 
bye ! ’ ’ 


CHAPTER III 


LEWIS AHLSWEDE BECOMES A HEEO 

Becky still had before her the original program 
of a visit to the end of the long wharf. For a 
moment she thought of reporting her early adven- 
tures to her aunt. Then she concluded not to take 
the chance of delay by long explanations. She 
could report to her aunt later. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by foot- 
steps close behind. The Times , reporter had at 
last locked the office and was overtaking the girl. 
When Becky turned and noted the boy it was as 
if she had met an old friend. 

‘^Hello!’’ she exclaimed, waving her picture. 
The assurance of the smart-looking city girl 
seemed to frighten Lewis. He tried to speak, 
but his mouth only twisted and his face flamed 
again. Then he tried to respond to Becky ^s greet- 
ing by lifting his hat. He slackened his pace until 
his feet came together, intending a bow. His legs 
clashed into what was nearly a stumble, his soiled 
hand wiggled the rim of his cap, and the boy hur- 
ried on. 


27 


28 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

When the confused lad reached Carlson store, 
the girl saw him hurry within. Before she came 
to the same place he was out again. As he emerged 
the girl waved her picture again with a smile. 
But the boy pretended not to see, and walked 
briskly out on the pier. 

^‘Well, did you clean ’em out?” 

It was the voice of the romantic-minded Mr. 
Carlson. 

saw him,’’ answered Becky. ‘‘He did it,” 
she added, “but he didn’t mean anything. He’s 
a kind of nice boy, too, if he’d only wash his 
hands.” 

‘ ‘ Sure. It ’s a pity he ain ’t got a chance. ’ ’ 

“Chance for what? Can’t he get a cake of 
soap? There’s plenty of water,” Becky replied, 
tartly. 

“Them hands ain’t hurtin’ him,” continued Mr. 
Carlson, soberly. “I reckon he’s clean enough 
inside. If he hadn’t been born with a good-for- 
nothin’ river tramp of a father, mebbe he’d ’a’ 
got some schoolin’. Fur as I can see, he’ll never 
be nothin ’ but a type-sticker. ’ ’ 

“He’s almost a reporter,” protested Becky. 
“He writes pieces.” 

“Huh!” grunted the storekeeper. “Reporter 
nothin’ ! All Lewis can do is to copy things.” 


Lewis Ahlswede Becomes a Hero 29 

Isn’t there a school here?” Becky asked, 
abruptly. Can’t he go to night school?” 

‘‘No more schoolin’ for him,” answered the 
man. “All he can earn goes to his mother. O’ 
course he’s doin’ better ’n if he was oyster 
tongin’.” 

“You say he gives all his wages to his folks?” 

‘ ‘ He sleeps up there in the Times office and eats 
at old Owens’ for part o’ his wages. An’ for 
me,” answered Mr. Carlson, emitting a puffi of 
smoke, “that’d mean about a dollar a week or 
less.” 

‘ ‘ Then his folks don ’t live here ? ’ ’ 

“His mother lives at Sebastian, twenty mile 
down the river. Where old Ahlswede is, I reckon 
nobody knows. The gov’ment agents used to 
keep track o’ him — when they was more smug- 
glin’ than they is now. The last I heard o’ him 
he was down Fort Pierce way.” 

It seemed like a story to Becky. She put her 
shell on the ground and sat down. 

‘ ‘ ’Fore his father left, Lewis got some schoolin ’. 
When the old man run away the boy had to keep 
his mother goin’. They had a grove o’ trees, a 
patch o’ garden an’ a shack. The kid come up 
here an’ hired out as devil to the Times.” 

“Ho you mean they had a grove of orange 
trees?” interrupted the girl. 


30 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


‘^Sure. But the boy don’t neglect ’em. Old 
Owens lets him off at noon on Saturdays. The 
only thing his pap left the family that he could 
’a’ carried away was the Red Bird,^^ The store- 
keeper pointed to a little red boat moored just 
beyond the store. That’s Lewis’ boat. Ever’ 
Saturday noon he lights out for Sebastian.” 

‘^He goes home every week, then?” asked his 
listener. 

^<An’ gets there in time to work on the garden 
an’ trees. An’ he’s always tyin’ up here by the 
time I open up Monday mornin’s.” 

‘‘Anyway,” Becky exclaimed, as if answering 
something in her mind, ‘ ‘ I think he ought to wash 
his hands.” 

“Fur as that goes,” responded the storekeeper, 
“like as not we all got somethin’ stickin’ to us 
we ought to get rid of. But the marks o’ type an’ 
printer’s ink’ll prob’ly stick to Lewis all his life.” 

Catching up her spoils of the morning, Becky 
rose and once more started for the pier. 

“Good morning, Mr. Carlson,” she exclaimed. 

“Watch but for them loose boards, child!” was 
the man’s only response. 

Becky thought the boy had already reached the - 
far end of the pier, for he was now out of sight. 
She had walked but a few yards, however, when 
she saw Lewis get up from his knees out where the 


Letvis Ahlswede Becomes a Hero 


31 


little tram car stood. As she hesitated, Mr. Carl- 
son remarked: 

‘‘He’s havin’ trouble with the car. It’s alius 
off the track. Hurry ’long an’ he’ll give you a 
lift out to the shelter. He’s goin’ out for a 
bundle o’ paper.” 

There was no reason to come back. Becky 
caught sight of the old schooner, its big gray, 
patched sails flying loosely in the pleasant breeze, 
and all her curiosity returned. 

“An’ if you get out as fur as the Olivette I 
wish’t you’d tell Cap O’Connor them pineapple 
crates is ready to be took over to Hafner’s.” 

“You mean the boat out there?” Becky called 
back, eagerly. 

“Cap O’Connor’s Olivette — doin’ nothin’, as 
usual. ’ ’ 

“The man who sold you bad shells?” laughed 
the girl. 

‘ ‘ For the last time, ’ ’ called the storekeeper. ‘ ‘ If 
that girl’s an invalid,” continued the man to 
himself, “she’s about the liveliest miss ’at ever 
brought up around here.” 

When Becky had nearly reached the boy and 
the refractory car, she could see Lewis making 
desperate efforts to start the latter. 

‘ ‘ Let me have a ride, ’ ’ called Becky, as the car 
started. “Mr. Carlson told me to ask you.” 


32 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

The boy ran ahead to overtake the car, and 
then pushed it back toward the girl. 

‘‘It’s his; I borrowed it,” explained Lewis. 
“I’m goin’ out to git some freight.” 

“I’ve got to take a message to the Olivette,^’ 
responded the girl, as some excuse for her self- 
invitation. “I’m much obliged ” 

“Look out there!” yelled the boy, suddenly. 

But he was too late. Becky had started along- 
side the car to get to the front. The boy saw a 
missing plank that the girl did not notice, but 
before he finished his warning Becky was off the 
pier. 

She had not even time to scream. In the splash 
her skirt caught and held the air for a second, 
and then the floundering girl pulled it under the 
water. Lewis acted so quickly that, while Becky’s 
treasured conch shell rolled along and before it 
fell from the pier, the boy was in the water. 

This was not over three feet deep, but to Becky 
it might as well have been forty. Unconsciously 
she closed her mouth. Her hands touched bottom 
and the rebound turned her over. Before the 
shock forced her mouth open, the boy caught her 
arm and she was on her feet, her head so heavy 
that it fell forward. 

“You’re all right,” she heard the boy shout. 

Gasping, her hair bound around her face, she 


Lewis Ahlswede Becomes a Hero 


33 


tried to catch her dress. By this time the boy had 
hold of both arms. 

‘‘It ain^t deep/^ he shouted. “You he all 
right ! ’ ’ 

With an explosion of coughs Becky now found 
herself on her feet, and her rescuer released her 
arms. The girl pushed the hair from her eyes 
and mouth and pulled at her sticking waist. Once 
a little swell caught her, and Lewis steadied her. 

‘ ‘ Take hold of the pile, ^ ^ he exclaimed. 

Struggling with her skirts, Becky did so. Then 
she began to shiver. 

“I didnh see it,’^ she finally panted, her face 
very white. 

“Wade out,’’ exclaimed the boy. “It ain’t 
deep. ’ ’ He reached out his hands to guide her. 

“My new slippers,” was Becky’s only reply, 
“they’re gone!” 

“I can get ’em,” responded Lewis, reassur- 
ingly, “but wade out first.” 

‘ ‘ My aunt ! ’ ’ broke out the girl. 

“You’ll catch cold here. Come on out!” urged 
the boy. 

‘ ‘ My slippers ! ’ ’ wailed Becky, now in a down- 
right cry. “They’re gone!” 

“I’ll get ’em,” almost shouted the boy. 
“They’re right here — somewhere. Come on.” 

As if she heard her rescuer for the first time. 


34 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


the excited girl raised her head and looked about. 
Another little swell struck her, and she caught 
the barnacle-encrusted post with a scream. 

‘‘That’s nothin’,’’ insisted Lewis. “It ain’t 
goin’ to hurt you.” 

With another effort the bedraggled girl raised 
her head again. She looked at the boy, at the 
pier above, and then, loosening her arms from the 
pile, stepped from it. 

“Isn’t this the limit?” she exclaimed suddenly, 
in a new voice. ‘ ‘ Did I lose my picture I ’ ’ 

Lewis looked about. Just on the other side of 
the pier floated the picture. With four or five 
swashing steps, the boy rescued it. 

“Thank you,” exclaimed Becky, still shaking. 
“I hope it isn’t spoiled.” 

For answer Lewis took the girl by the arm and 
started shoreward. Becky’s first step, in her 
stocking feet, on the shells and stones of the 
river bottom, brought a new stumble. She had 
no sooner been put on her feet again than she 
had a new trouble. 

‘ ‘ My shell ! ’ ’ she exclaimed, suddenly. 

‘ ‘ I can get that, too ; it ’s right here, ’ ’ announced 
the boy. “I can find ever ’thing, I guess. Don’t 
bother.” 

Submissively Becky moved forward another 
step. 


Lewis Ahlswede Becomes a Eero 


35 


‘‘It hurts/’ she protested. 

“Wait till I get my boat!” 

“I’ll wait,” began Becky. Just then another 
wash of water swept against her, and she 
screamed anew. 

“I’m afraid ” she cried. The look that came 

into her companion’s face seemed to arouse the 
girl. “I’m not,” she added suddenly, in a tone 
that startled the boy. “I’m not afraid, and you 
needn’t be pitying me. I can walk ” 

“What’s the matter with you folks!” called a 
voice far down the pier at that moment. 

The girl and boy looked, and saw Mr. Carlson 
hurrying toward them. 

‘ ‘ I fell in and can ’t get out, ’ ’ Becky shouted. 

“Lift her up here, Lewis,” ordered the hard- 
breathing storekeeper. “Don’t stand there lettin’ 
the cliild shiver like a jellyfish.” 

Before Becky had time to assert her growing 
independence the boy clasped her about the waist 
and lifted her pierward. The storekeeper caught 
her and in a moment the dripping girl was seated 
on the little car. 

“I didn’t see it,” she began, plaintively, her 
teeth chattering. Meanwhile Mr. Carlson had 
helped the boy to the dock. 

“You better put on my coat,” suggested Lewis. 
“The top’s dry.” 


36 Captain Becky's Winter Cruise 

The girl thanked him and let him slip the coat 
on her shivering arms. Then she thrust her head 
out of the coat for a look about. The car was 
rumbling along under Mr. Carlson’s strong hands 
and Becky did her best to smile. 

‘M’m sure I’m much obliged ” she began; 

then she stopped and faced the other way. 
haven’t said thank you to you yet, Mr. Ahlswede. 
I hope you aren’t very wet.” The answer to this 
was the sound of Lewis’ heavy, swishing trousers 
and of the water squirting from his shoes at every 
step. ‘M’m sorry you had to do it. Don’t mind 
about my slippers,” she added. 

Still the boy made no response. At the shore 
end of the pier Mr. Carlson lifted Becky in his 
arms and carried her into the store. A few 
minutes later the girl was encased in a long yellow 
slicker, or fisherman’s: raincoat, and a new pair of 
green and red carpet slippers, much too large for 
her. As she and Mr. Carlson started up the path 
to the hotel, Becky saw the Ahlswede boy out on 
the pier, kicking the car forward with his feet. 
She waved one of the wide, yellow slicker arms at 
him, but if he saw he gave no sign. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE KEWAKD OF INDISCKETION 

When Becky reported to Mrs. Fairfield, the con- 
sternation of that lady was only equaled by her 
solicitude. Becky was instantly whisked upstairs. 
Rather than take time to rebuke the girl, 
Mrs. Fairfield, ordering hot water and mustard, 
assisted Becky to undress. Towels and alcohol 
followed, and then the girl was buried under 
blankets. 

Young lady,^’ exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield at last 
with positiveness, ^‘like as not you Ye going to be 
sick. You may as well get ready for the doctor.’’ 
don’t want a doctor,” protested Becky, 

( < j > > 

^‘Be quiet. You’ll have a hot lemonade in a 
few minutes. ’ ’ 

For answer Becky sprang up in bed excitedly, 
lost my slippers too! The new ones!” 

^‘That’s the least you can lose,” answered her 
aunt sharply as she again buried the girl beneath 
the bedclothes. The lemonade and a mustard foot 
bath made Becky even more uncomfortable, but in 
ten minutes the perspiring girl was asleep. 

37 


38 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Wlien she awoke the room was shaded and still. 
At first Becky did not recall what had happened. 
Then, as everything came back, she rolled over 
softly, wondering if her aunt were in the room. 
Mrs. Fairfield was not there. On the window sill 
stood two shrunken slippers. With a sigh of relief 
Becky smiled. 

^ ^ He did it anyway, ’ ’ she said to herself. ^ ‘ He ’s 
a dandy even if he has dirty hands. ’ ’ 

Like a sleepy kitten the girl stole from beneath 
the blankets and tiptoed to the window. The slip- 
pers were damp and stuffed with paper, but they 
had been carefully cleaned. On the roof outside 
was her dress skirt, not yet wholly dry. Then 
Becky realized that she was very hot. She bathed 
her face and rubbed it dry with a big towel. That 
done, she put on her new dressing gown and sat 
on the floor to think. 

All of Becky’s troubles disappeared in a new 
glow of delight. Many things had to be thought of. 
All her wet clothing, excepting her sldrt and 
blouse, had been carried away. Then she caught 
the sound of dishes and concluded all were at 
dinner. If she was not dressed before her aunt 
reappeared there was a chance of being put to 
bed again. 

When Mrs. Fairfield left the dining room later 
with a cup of tea she caught her breath at the 


The Reward of Indiscretion 39 

sight of a figure descending the stairs. Becky, 
a fresh handkerchief in one hand and her new 
bag purse in the other, her still heavy hair in 
brownish red twists under a white ‘Hum down’’ 
hat, a white summer dress with a black sailor knot 
at the throat and newly varnished shoes, was be- 
fore her ready for a new excursion. 

“Hello, aunty,” exclaimed the girl laughingly. 

“You go upstairs this minute!” 

“Why, aunty! Can’t I have my dinner?” 

“I’ll see to your dinner.” 

“Please, aunty!” 

But Mrs. Fairfield’s severe look was too much. 
Becky retreated. When they reached their apart- 
ment Mrs. Fairfield had considerable to say. The 
girl tried to stem the torrent of criticism by ex- 
plaining how well she felt, how hungry she was 
and how delightful it was out of doors. But the 
verdict was: Becky’s luncheon was to consist of 
tea and toast, after which she was to disrobe, put 
on her dressing gown, unpack her trunk and put 
away her clothes. Then she was to descend to 
the laundry and press her dress skirt. These 
duties concluded, she was to write a letter to her 
mother. After this, Mrs. Fairfield would accom- 
pany her in quest of Lewis Ahlswede to thank 
him formally. 


40 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

At the first mention of Lewis’ name Becky 
started. 

‘‘Did he bring anything but my slippers?” she 
interrupted. “He promised to get my shell too, 
and I left my picture on the pier. ’ ’ 

“There’s an old shell and a water soaked 
chromo down on the gallery. We all thought they 
belonged to some child,” Mrs. Fairfield replied 
with set lips. “I’ve half a mind to put you to 
bed till to-morrow. The idea of your asking that 
young man to risk his life a second time to find 
that rubbish.” 

“I told him not to,” protested Becky, alarmed. 

“Then what made you think he would!” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I didn’t 
ask him to get me out either. But I can have 
them, can’t I!” 

Mrs. Fairfield sighed. 

Becky’s sentence having been waived for a few 
moments, she hurried down to the gallery and 
recovered her trophies. As she did so she was 
conscious that many hotel guests were watching 
her. She wondered, first, if there was anything 
wnong with her dress. Then it came to her that 
it might be her accident and rescue. She was 
glad that her dressing gown was fresh and clean. 

“Isn’t this Miss Beckwith!” suddenly asked a 
woman. 


41 


The Reward of Indiscretion 

^‘Marjorie Beckwith, yes’m,’’ replied the girl, 
catching the shell to her breast. 

‘‘How are you feeling after your accident?’’ 
continued the woman sympathetically. 

“I’m feeling fine,” responded the girl. “It 
wasn’t much.” 

“Your aunt was so worried about you,” volun- 
teered another. “I’m so glad nothing came 
of it.” 

“Thank you,” exclaimed Becky. She made a 
fuller sweep of her eyes about the gallery. There 
wasn’t a boy of her own age in sight. 

“We’re going sailing this afternoon,” resumed 
Becky’s second questioner. “If you have quite 
recovered we would be glad to have you and Mrs. 
Fairfield go with us.” 

“Oh, thank you!” exclaimed the startled girl. 
“I’ll see.” 

With elastic bounds the slender figure flew from 
the gallery. As she threw open the door of her 
aunt’s room she was stopped by a despairing cry. 

“Becky!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield. “What’s 
the matter with your waist?” 

The girl gave it an alarmed glance. The front 
was a soggy gray. Water inside the shell had 
trickled out and saturated it. 

“I thought it felt kind of coolish like ” 


42 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Becky began, trying to langb. ^‘It^ll dry soon, 
aunty, she continued. ‘‘And say, aunty 

“Take off your waist instantly.^’ 

“Some ladies downstairs want to know ’’ 

‘ ‘ Take off your waist ! ’ ’ 

“Want to know if you and I would like to go 
sailing this afternoon.’’ 

For answer Mrs. Fairfield, as if not hearing, 
arose with determination and undid the girl’s tie, 
Becky reluctantly unbuckling her belt. 

“Don’t you want to?” she asked with her best 
smile. 

In silence the waist came off and Mrs. Fairfield 
hurried to the alcohol bottle. WTth a heavy towel 
poor Becky’s chest got a fresh massage. 

“We ought to send them word, oughtn’t we?” 

“I’ll attend to that, young lady. Now don’t 
you leave this room till I return. And when I 
do, I want to see that trunk unpacked. Put all 
your clothes on the bed where I can look them 
over. ’ ’ 

As the door closed, Becky, half dressed and a 
prisoner, fell on her knees by the trunk. 

“I guess we’re not going,” she said to herself. 
Then she seemed to forgot all her troubles as she 
opened her new trunk and began to revel in the 
sight and odor of her prettiest things. She was 
refolding a favorite hair ribbon when she sank 


The Reward of Indiscretion 


43 


back on her heels, slapped her hands on her knees 
and then jumped to her feet and hurried to the 
window. Far out at the end of the long pier a 
growing breath of breeze was now moving the 
loose sails of the old schooner. 

^^111 bet they’re going on the Olivette,^ ^ she 
said, almost aloud. ^‘Oh, my!” she added in a 
tone that almost meant despair. For several min- 
utes she kneeled at the open window. She had 
never sailed on a boat in her life. She knew she 
wanted to, but she could only measure the joy 
of it by what she had read. To her the river, 
margined by the tropic green, seemed a path lead- 
ing to wonders oh which she had never even read. 

She recalled that somewhere, far below, lay 
Sebastian, the town where Lewis’ mother lived. 
Then, with a sigh, she wished she were a boy, 
so that she, like Lewis, might own Vi Red Bird and 
sail all alone in it to where coughs and soiled 
dresses and admonitions were unknown. She 
turned her head, resting on her thin, bare arms, 
toward Mr. Carlson’s store, near which she knew 
the Red Bird was moored. And there, almost 
beneath her shifting eyes, she caught sight of the 
Red Bird^s owner. Lewis, the representative of 
the Times y was making his way toward the hotel — 
a notebook in his hand. 

Becky sank to the floor and the dream ended. 


44 Captain BecTcy^s Winter Cruise 

She crawled back to her trunk and continued her 
delayed duties. Tray after tray she managed to 
get to the floor — river, boats and dreams out of 
her head as she reveled in the joy of looking over 
the things her mother had so carefully prepared 
for her. She reached at last, daintily folded, her 
best dress, the one she had never worn. 

She carefully held it up against herself before 
the mirror— a filmy white lawn with a little blue 
figure and clinging to the short sleeves and the 
square neck odorous little rolls of lace, her 
mother’s own. There was a temptation to slip 
it on that she might fasten about herself the sash 
of blue satin. Then, as if some discovery had 
shocked her, Becky ran to the bed and laid the 
frock upon it. The girl had suddenly recalled 
that it was her unlucky day with dresses. 

‘‘Marjorie,” exclaimed a voice as Mrs. Fairfield 
opened the door. “Lewis Ahlswede is down- 
stairs. I think you had better slip your dress on 
again and go down and thank him property.” 

“I did that, aunty, this morning. Here’s my 
new dress. Mother made it.” 

Mrs. Fairfield gave it close scrutiny and asked 
to see the sash. She took the dress to the window 
to better examine the lace and nodded approval. 
Becky was already brushing her hair. Being 


45 


The Reward of Indiscretion 

downstairs was certainly nearer the sailing trip 
than being upstairs half dressed. 

^^I’ll go down and take him into the parlor,’’ 
suggested Mrs. Fairfield. Hurry,” she added, 
‘^and Becky, please don’t upset the water pitcher 
on yourself before coming down.” 

When the girl was again dressed she folded her 
‘‘middy” hat and slipped it inside her waist. 
Then she ran downstairs. 

“Hello!” she cried, as she caught sight of 
Lewis, where Mrs. Fairfield had him in a one- 
sided conversation. Becky noticed that his hands 
gave signs of a hard scrubbing, but they were 
yet dark. She extended one of her hands, which 
the boy took with an awkward bow. “I got 
everything, ’ ’ exclaimed Becky, ‘ ‘ the slippers, and 
shell, and picture. But the picture is all swelled 
up and spoiled.” 

The boy made no answer beyond removing his 
cap and smoothing his hair. 

“Marjorie is going to write to her parents tell- 
ing them all about how you helped her, ’ ’ explained 
Mrs. Fairfield. 

“Yes’m,” said the boy. 

‘ ‘ It was dandy of you to go and get my things, ’ ’ 
added Becky, “but I’m sorry I let you.” 

“I didn’t get ’em,” answered Lewis slowly. 
“You said for me not to.” 


46 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

^'Who didr^ asked Becky, her eyes open with 
surprise. 

^^Mr. Carlson done it. He took a fish pole an’ 
dug ’em out. That is, the slippers.” 

‘‘Oh,” exclaimed Becky. “But the shell?” 

“Well, I got that when I come back with my 
freight — he said it wasn’t worth troublin’ about. 
Then I brung ’em here. ’ ’ 

“Thank you,” broke in Becky. “It was just 
dandy of you and Mr. Carlson too, wasn’t it, 
aunty ? ’ ’ 

“We are both greatly obliged, Lewis,” re- 
marked Mrs. Fairfield. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” answered the boy hur- 
riedly. “I guess I got to be goin’.” 

For the first time he seemed to let his eyes 
rest on the girl. “I reckon your dress ain’t dry 
yet?” he added. 

“Yes, it’s dry now,” said Becky with a smile, 
“but it’s all out of shape. I’ve got to press it.” 

Lewis gave a quick glance at his baggy trousers. 
“Well,” he said hurriedly, “I’ll have to say good 
day, folks.” 

He wriggled his loose cap on his heavy hair 
and walked stiffly out, with no further effort to 
get an item. 


CHAPTEE V 

A NEW HAND AT THE WHEEL 

‘^Why, here is Miss Marjorie now!’’ exclaimed 
a lady as Becky and her aunt reached the gallery. 
^‘Aren’t you coming with us?” 

‘^Why don’t you go, aunty?” asked Becky. 
‘‘I’ll stay and see to things. Are you going to 
sail across the river with Captain O’Conngr?” 
added the girl with a little sigh. 

“Oh, of course. We always go on the Olivette, 
I hope you can both come.” 

“Eeally, I can’t,” protested Becky demurely. 
“I’ve an awful lot to do, unpacking and writing 
letters. But I hope aunty will,” she added, look- 
ing wistfully over the river. 

The cicerone of the expedition laughed and 
whispered to Mrs. Fairfield. 

“Do go, aunty,” repeated Becky persuasively. 
“I know it will be grand. Anyway, I think I’d 
better get at my work. What does a pineapple 
tree look like?” she continued, turning to Mrs. 
Fairfield’s companion. 


47 


48 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘‘Get ready, laughed the latter. “Your aunt 
is coming and you too.’’ 

“That is the way it always is,” Mrs. Fairfield 
remarked. “Marjorie, get your hat.” 

“Here it is,” exclaimed the girl as she drew 
out the crumpled headgear. “I’ll hurry on and 
thank Mr. Carlson for rescuing my slippers.” 

Before she could escape Mrs. Fairfield had her 
by the arm. 

‘ ‘ That is just what you will not do, young lady. 
You will not get out of my reach this afternoon. 
We have had enough adventures for one day.” 

Eestraining herself, Becky withdrew to a chair 
and happy thoughts. These were all of the old 
schooner and Captain O’Connor. The thought 
of at last being on a sea boat, a craft that had 
tossed on stormy waves and pushed its way into 
tropic waters among coral islands, threw an air 
of romance about the vessel she had not yet seen. 

“I’d be satisfied,” she said to herself, “just 
to be with the captain and his wife for a time; 
just to eat and sleep on a real ship that wasn’t 
a steamboat. And if I were a boy I’d be a sailor 
and help work it ” 

“All ready,” broke in some one, and a white- 
skirted cavalcade drifted riverward. Close by her 
aunt, Becky was among the last to reach the pier. 


A New Hand at the Wheel 49 

Her eyes and mind were on the Olivette — the old 
craft that was to mean so much to her. 

His stern face unmarked by even a smile, Cap- 
tain O’Connor stood by the schooner’s side to do 
the honors of his ship. He was an average man 
in stature, but a little squatty, as if a weight had 
crushed him together somewhat. Without coat 
or vest, a belt left his gray-and-black checked 
flannel, collarless shirt hanging on him like a 
woman’s full blouse. The captain’s trousers 
were of seaman’s blue, neatly patched in several 
places and with wide, flapping pockets. His face, 
clean shaven and compressed like his body, had 
many wrinkles near his eyes, while his mouth 
came nearer pointing in than out, owing to a 
generous lack of teeth. 

As the ladies passed aboard, the Olivette^ s 
owner and skipper lifted a brown cap, but he 
neither spoke nor smiled. A special mark of 
consideration was, in several cases, the removal 
of a short clay pipe from between his inward-set 
lips. 

Becky did not mean to be passed by with only 
a touch of the cap. 

‘Hs this Captain O’Connor?” she asked 
promptly. 

^‘Yes, miss.” 


50 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

‘^Mr. Carlson told me to tell you about some 
pineapple crates. 

‘‘Ye’re a slow missinger, miss,” answered the 
captain. “Thim crates be safe aboard by this 
long time. The b’y brung the word.” Then 
he added, “Are yez the gurrl that wuz afther 
havin ’ the dookin ’ this marnin ’ ? ” Becky nodded. 
The captain took her hand and assisted her to 
the deck. “I’ll ricommind to yez, miss,” he con- 
tinued dryly, “that the wather’s tin feet dape 
bechune the boat an’ the pier, and there’s no 
Lewis here standin’ by to heave ye a line.” 

“I know it,” answered Becky instantly, “so 
I’m going to look out for myself. Have I time 
to go downstairs before you start?” 

‘ ‘ Downstairs ? ’ ’ repeated the skipper, his mouth 
opening so wide that he barely rescued his pipe. 
“Will ye mind that! Yis, plenty o’ time. The 
basement is open. Just spake to the janitor. 
Ye’ll find her waitin’ to resave ye.” 

The name of the vessel was the ‘ ‘ Olivette of St. 
Augustine” and this appeared in white on the 
round stern. The schooner registered twenty-five 
tons — too big a boat to be sailed by one man ex- 
cept on protected water. Even in such places 
Captain O’Connor used only the mainsail and 
jib. In “coming about” his wife was called to 


A New Hand at the Wheel 51 

let go the jib and haul away while the captain 
attended the tiller and mainsail sheets. 

The ‘‘janitor’’ spoken of by the captain was 
Mrs. Nora O’Connor, first mate, stewardess, cook 
and, often enough, the real director of the 
Olivette, Mrs. Nora was neither red-faced nor 
fat. She was black of hair, keen of eye and brown 
of skin. She wore a flowered shirt waist, a yellow 
gold breastpin and a black skirt. Later she 
donned a very good Panama hat ornamented with 
a red band. 

“In the basement, is it?” she began, when 
Becky reached the companionway, in which 
Mrs. Nora was standing. “Sure, miss, and it’s 
no dacint place at prisint what wid crates an’ the 
loike.” 

“Where do you sleep?” began Becky at once. 
She had expected to find herself in a long hall 
with little rooms opening off it. Instead, she was 
in a large compartment. Just off the steps to 
the left was a little closet only large enough to 
hold a narrow bunk. On the other side was an- 
other room, a little larger, but still very small. 

“This is our cabin,” explained Mrs. Nora, fol- 
lowing Becky. “ ’Tis moine, at laste,” she went 
on with a laugh. “Captain O’Connor is like to 
slape any place where the boards is soft.” 

“It’s like a sleeping car, isn’t it!” commented 


52 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

the girl as she peered within. There was a little 
dresser with signs of a woman’s trinkets and a 
miniature mirror. There was one chair. But it 
was the long, wide hold forward that interested 
the girl most. 

Isn’t it dandy?” she cried, as they turned 
from the little cabins. ^‘All those windows for 
air and light! This is where I’d stay!” 

^‘Ye’d hardly be doin’ that, miss,” answered 
Mrs. O’Connor. “This be where we carry the 
freight, an’ the big windies is for takin’ it in an’ 
out. I’ll be scrubbin’ it the first chance I get; 
but like enough our next load’ll be charcoal, an’ 
there ye are.” 

At this time the hold was nearly free of freight. 
On one side was a quantity of pineapple crate 
material. Otherwise the long interior was broken 
only by two masts with a narrow centerboard box 
between them. 

“A lot of people could camp out in here,” ex- 
claimed Becky enthusiastically. “Where do you 
cook? You eat on the boat, too, of course?” 

“Ask Captain Sam,” replied Mrs. Nora, laugh- 
ing. “We cook in the galley.” 

“The galley? What’s that?” 

“A galley on a ship is the kitchen. On the 
Olivette it’s the dinin’ room too, exciptin’ when 
we spread the cloth out here in the hold. But 


A New Rand at the Wheel 


53 


that ain’t often, the captain an’ me bein’ alone 
most o’ the time.” 

‘‘Don’t yon have anyone to help yon work the 
boat?” asked Becky. “A great big boat like 
this?” 

“Av coorse, miss; wan man always; two if we 
go to sea.” 

“How I’d like to help yon!” chnckled Becky, 
after examining the little cooking and eating 
room. 

The galley was almost triangnlar, a little room 
made by a partition jnst forward of the foremast. 
Against the mast was a folding table. On each 
side of the room were shelves holding dishes and 
stores. In the narrow part of the room was a 
gasoline stove. On each side of this were cook- 
ing ntensils. On the floor by the stove were other 
stores. A generons window gave Mrs. Nora a 
fine lookont, while side openings afforded plenty 
of light and air. 

“Mrs. Captain,” began the eager girl, catching 
her guide’s arm, “I’ve been crazy to cook some- 
thing in one of those little places on the railroad 
train, but I’d just give anything to try to cook 
in your kitchen.” 

Just then a movement of the schooner made her 
look up. Through the open skylight she saw her 
aunt looking anxiously about. 


54 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

^^Hoo-lioo, aunty,’’ she shouted. 

A folded camp stool stood near the little table. 
Throwing it open, the girl placed it under a win- 
dow and sprang upon it. 

‘‘Hello, aunty! I’m here.” Both arms were 
waving at the ladies on the forward deck. Just 
then Captain O’Connor, who had been easing the 
schooner off the pier, took a hitch on the main 
sheet and the Olivette keeled lightly. The stool 
wobbled and its occupant lunged at the porthole 
frame. 

“Oh, we’re going!” exclaimed Becky, as she 
clung to the window frame while the stool danced 
about. “Give me a boost, please, Mrs. Captain, 
I want to see the captain make the boat go.” 

“A boost, is it?” almost shouted Becky’s host- 
ess. “A boost through the windy wid that clane 
dress?” 

Instead of further comment she lifted Becky 
from the stool and put her down outside the 
galley. 

“The captain’s aft. You hurry along an’ kape 
him company while I drop the centerboard.” 

With a quick glance to see that nothing had 
happened to her dress Becky hurried sternward. 

“Did ye have a look at the basement?” asked 
Captain O’Connor as the girl appeared on the 
steps. 


A New Hand at the Wheel 


55 


Yes, sir, thank yon,’’ responded Becky. ‘‘Mrs. 
O’Connor told me to come and see you make the 
boat go. May I?” 

By way of reply the veteran boatman motioned 
Bec^ toward him. Silently he placed her hands 
on the wooden tiller. With a flush of joy she 
grasped it. 

“What do I do?” she whispered. 

“Hold her steady,” was the answer, “while I 
fill me poipe.” 

At a bound Becky had reached the zenith of 
her new ambition. She leaned forward, her slen- 
der form hard against the magic shaft and her 
white fingers gripping it as if the fate of the 
Olivette were in her keeping. The captain slowly 
refilled his pipe. 

“What’s your name!” began Captain O’Con- 
nor, his pipe going again, as he took his place 
behind the steersman and altered the tiller a trifle. 

“Marjorie Beckwith. Mrs. Fairfield is my 
aunt. ’ ’ 

“Your folks ain’t with you then!” 

“We couldn’t afford to come — all of us — but 
they thought I had to come.” 

“What’s the matter with you!” asked the cap- 
tain. 

“Decline,” responded Becky seriously, “what- 
ever that is. I guess it’s weak lungs. The doctor 


56 


Captain Becky's Winter Cruise 

said I had to quit studying and reading and get 
out of doors. So they sent me down here.” 

^‘Well, you ain’t kickin’, be you?” 

‘^Oh, it’s fine, of course! But, you see, we 
aren’t rich. Why, we didn’t even keep a maid 
till I got the ‘decline.’ ” She smiled again. “We 
live in a flat. And such a lot of money as we 
have to spend.” 

The captain was nodding his head. 

“Ye’re lucky to have it to spind,” he com- 
mented at last with a long draw on his pipe. “If 
the freightin’ business on the river don’t pick up 
soon, I’m thinking’ o’ partin’ with the schooner. 
Business is rotten.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” broke in Becky. 

“Plow long’ll ye be stayin’ in these parts?” 
went on the captain. 

“That’s it,” sighed Becky. “Don’t you think 
it’s a lot to charge for board — fifteen dollars a 
week? And it cost over fifty dollars to get here 
and five dollars for sleeping car and goodness me 
such prices as you have to pay to eat on the 
train ” 

“Well, anyway,” broke in the captain with his 
first smile, “I reckon me and the wife has got 
somethin’ to be thankful for — no house rint, no 
coal bills, an’ mighty few clothes; a few potatoes 
an’ pork with an egg now an’ thin ” 


A New Hand at the Wheel 


57 , 


‘^We had to worry a lot,^’ Becky interrupted, 
continuing with her confessions. ‘‘When I was 
a little girl I began to save my pennies for a 
‘rainy day.’ I had one hundred and twenty-five 
dollars and so I just figured I had struck my 
‘rainy day.’ I had enough to pay my own way 
down here and back and a little more — all father 
has to do is to pay my board. But that is a lot.” 

“Then you ain’t livin’ with your aunt?” 

“Oh, my, no! She’s a widow. She is like we 
are. ’ ’ 

“ ’Tis a great wurrld,” mused the captain. 
“I’d ’a ’ picked yez all out for bein ’ rich as crame. 
Well, anyway, Sam O’Connor an’ Nora has their 
hilth an’ three males a day ” 

“And the Olivette added Becky enviously as 
she eyed the big, patched sails. “I think you’re 
mighty lucky!” 


CHAPTER VI 

CAPTAIN O^CONNOK^S STRANGE CONTRACT 

Captain O’Connor laid the Olivette across the 
river like a duck adrift. When he made a landing 
Becky was the first ashore and Mrs. Fairfield 
gasped when she saw her niece struggling with 
the schooner’s bowline. 

‘‘Becky,” she cried, “drop that dirty rope!” 

Becky did so, but she dropped it over a pile. 

“Your niece has the makin’s of a foine sailor, 
Mrs. Fairfield,” Captain Sam said soberly. 

“She will do anything,” answered Mrs. Fair- 
field. “In half an hour I suppose she will be 
wanting to start a pineapple plantation.” 

“Aunty,” put in Becky, “I don’t care about 
the pineapples, just now. Can’t I stay here till 
you come back?” 

“To get into some new mischief?” 

‘ ‘ Captain 0 ’Connor is telling me about the boat 
and I want to go downstairs again.” 

“She’s perfectly safe, ma’am,” volunteered 
Mrs. O’Connor. 

“You’ll keep an eye on her?” 

58 


Captain O^Connor^s Strange Contract 59 

‘^Sure, ma’am, an’ glad to have her!” 

No sooner had the party disappeared than 
Becky seemed to change to another girl. What 
had been only childish curiosity suddenly turned 
to a definite purpose. While the captain was yet 
busy taking up the slack in his lines Becky sprang 
aboard the schooner and vanished below. Mrs. 
O’Connor followed. 

‘‘You don’t care if I look everywhere, do you?” 
asked the girl. “I’m thinking of something.” 

“Ye’ll find a power o’ scrubbin’ naded,” re- 
plied Mrs. O’Connor. 

Then Captain Sam came below, threw open a 
port, and began passing pineapple crate lumber 
out on the dock. 

“Let me help,” volunteered Becky. 

“Help?” grunted the captain. “Didn’t ye 
wurrk all the way over? Ye’d better be after 
goin’ ashore with the ladies. Ye’ll soon get 
enough o’ this old scow.” 

“Enough?” repeated Becky, running to the 
sour-faced skipper and thrusting her smiling face 
close to his. “I should say not; nor of you nor 
of Mrs. O’Connor. You just wait — I’m think- 
ing.” 

“Wait?” he repeated. “You’re thinkin’? 
Thinkin’ o’ what?” 

For answer, Becky drew him to the companion- 


60 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

way steps where his wife was already busy with 
her needle. 

‘‘Mrs. O’Connor,’’ began Becky, “do you sup- 
pose a girl of my age could ever have a real 
idea ! ’ ’ 

“Faith, miss,” came the instant reply, “I had 
more sinse at your age than I had later!” 

“Manin’ when she married a seafarin’ man,” 
explained her husband. 

“I’m sure she don’t mean that,” laughed Becky. 
“But listen! You said business was bad — that 
there is no freight?” 

“That’s right,” confirmed the captain. “A 
few more months o’ this an’ I reckon we’ll both 
be back steamboatin’ out o’ Palm Beach — me in 
the wheelhouse an ’ Mrs. 0 ’Connor dancin ’ attind- 
ance on the women passengers.” 

“Let’s take some passengers on the Olivette,^ ^ 
broke in Becky. “Listen! I’ve thought it out; 
that is, I’ve thought about it. Tell me — would 
you rent me the boat? That is, would you let 
me boss it and would you run it if I could pay 
you?” 

Mrs. O’Connor’s eyes contracted and the cap- 
tain’s expanded. 

“You?” they said, almost together. 

“I mean,” went on Becky, her face flushed 
under the pressure of her first business idea. “I 


Captain O’Connor^s Strange Contract 61 

am poor and I would like to do something to make 
some money. When I saw the Olivette I just 
loved it right away. There are others who would 
love it, too, if they knew about it. Let ’s take some 
folks on it to live. I’ll get the folks, and we’ll 
take them sailing while they are boarding with 
us.” 

‘‘Take boarders, is it?” exclaimed Mrs. O’Con* 
nor. “That’ll be meaning new sails an’ a coat o’ 
paint. ’ ’ 

“Oh, no!” protested Becky. “Not that — I 
wouldn’t change a thing on the Olivette, We 

could fix up the big room ” 

“A good scrubbin’, to be sure. An’ then ” 

“I mean let’s make little rooms in it. We can 

make them with calico curtains ” 

“An’ turn the old barge into a boardin’ 
house?” the puzzled skipper asked. 

“That’s it,” replied Becky eagerly. “Just 
think! See this little room,” and she opened the 
door to one of the miniature cabins, “two chil- 
dren could sleep there. Two people, if they 
weren ’t awfully big, could sleep in the other one. ’ ’ 
“That’s where the crew bunks,” broke in the 
captain. “We’d have a crew o’ one at least.” 
“Wouldn’t I do?” asked Becky. 

“You might stand by the jib or the centerboard, 
in a pinch,” smiled the captain, “but ” 


62 Captain Becky's Winter Cruise 

'‘Well, I’ll just do what you say about keeping 
close to the jib and the other thing. Leave out 
the 'huts’ till I get through.” 

"If we had Jupiter Jim,” suggested Mrs. 
O’Connor, "he could sleep under a bit o’ canvas. 
An’ Jim never does eat off a table. But go on, 
miss. ’ ’ 

"Then,” resumed Becky, "there’s your own 
room. A man and his wife could sleep there — 
leaving their trunks outside.” 

"An’ the O’Connors ’ll be after bunkin’ with 
Jupiter Jim!” asked the captain. 

"You and Mrs. O’Connor and I,” went on 
Becky calmly, "will sleep on cots in little calico 
cabins. They would be over there. We’ll put a 
table here and some rocking chairs ” 

"For what’s all this!” broke in Captain O’Con- 
nor, who began to be dazed. "A picnic!” 

"Partly,” explained Becky, "only a long one. 
And the picknickers are to pay us and live on the 
Olivette.'' 

' ' Oh, ’ ’ replied Captain 0 ’Connor, his mouth in 
a pucker. His wife was already looking over the 
hold and shaking her head. 

"Furniture an’ cots an’ dishes an’ provisions,” 
she was saying to herself. "An’ who’s to fur- 
nish the money!” she added in a louder voice. 

"I will,” announced Becky stoutly, "I’ve got 


Captain O’Connor’s Strange Contract 63 

sixty-five dollars and I can get credit at Mr. Carl- 
son ^s. I’ll take all the risk. You are wondering 
why, aren’t you?” went on the girl. want to 
rent the Olivette,’’ 

‘‘You mean, charter the craft?” exclaimed 
Captain Sam. 

“ If we can arrange it, ’ ’ responded Becky. ‘ ‘ If 
I can find a man and his wife, with three or four 
children, or several ladies who would make up a 
party, we would take them down the river and 
show them the sights. I would charge them board 
and passage, and out of that I would pay for 
fixing up the schooner. And you for cooking,” 
she added, putting her arm about the puzzled 
Mrs. O’Connor. “And you for being the cap- 
tain,” she concluded, smiling at the skipper. 

“I’m thinkin’ you’d be the captain,” was Cap- 
tain O’Connor’s reply. 

“How much will you charge me for the Oliv- 
ette?” asked Becky suddenly. The veteran river 
man looked at her helplessly. 

“I get seven dollars a day — sometimes,” he 
said at last. 

“Yis,” exclaimed his wife, “ ‘sometimes.’ 
More oHen it’s five. And then a wake o’ nuthin’ 
but rubbin’ ag’in the pier. If ye could manage 
the thing, miss, and, bechune us, if the Olivette 


64 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

got her twenty-five dollars a wake, ^tis a sight 
more than she’s made this many a day.” 

hundred dollars a month?” said Becky, as 
if calculating and addressing the captain. The 
skipper said nothing, only waving his hand in the 
direction of his wife. 

‘^And how about the cooking?” went on Becky. 

‘‘I’m the cook and stewardess o’ the Olivette,^ ^ 
responded Mrs. O’Connor promptly. “What 
pays for the schooner and its crew, pays the cook. 
But where ’d you get these notions, child?” 

“When I saw your kitchen,” answered Becky. 

“I don’t know where you’re goin’ to get your 
passengers,” broke in Captain Sam. “You can’t 
count on any o’ the folks up to the Coquina. You 
know what they pay me for this trip? Twenty- 
five cents a head. You got to give ’em a lot for 
their money, too.” 

“I’ll advertise,” announced Becky, that idea 
popping into her head. 

“In the Melbourne Times ? queried Captain 
O’Connor. “Ye might as well stick up a sign at 
Carlson’s store.” 

“In the St. Augustine papers,” declared Becky. 
“There are a lot of rich people in the big hotels. 
There are some who would know this was a fine 
chance,” she concluded, addressing Mrs. O’Con- 
nor. 


Captain O’Connor^s Strange Contract 65 

‘‘I don’t know,” answered that lady slowly. 
‘‘Most o’ the tourists go to Palm Beack” 

“Anyway, we can try it, can’t we?” asked 
Becky. “I’ll begin to-night.” 

“God bless ye,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Connor as 
she seized the girl’s face and gave her an im- 
pulsive kiss. “I’m sure hopin’ it’s no drame. 
What do ye think about it, Sam?” 

“Oh,” mumbled the captain, “I reckon they’s 
all kinds o’ suckers in this wurrld.” 

“But we aren’t,” came the quick comment from 
Becky. “I’m going to surprise you.” 

The girl sprang up the companionway to have 
another look at the schooner. Many years before, 
the little vessel had begun to push the waters of 
the river ahead of her. Like a human being she 
had grown old and fashions had changed. The 
railroad had stolen from her the produce of gar- 
dens and groves. Her sails were gray with 
patches, and her rigging was thin and sleek with 
many a strain. 

“Ye’ll never get anyone to go croosin’ in this 
ol’ tub,” called Captain Sam, “let alone payin’ 
money to slape an’ ate aboard her.” 

“You wait and see,” answered the girl, her 
hands on her slender hips. “Mrs. O’Connor and 
I mean business.” 

It was well along in the afternoon when the 


66 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


shore party returned. Mrs. Fairfield found Becky 
in Mrs. O’Connor’s galley, busy with a pencil. 

^^I’m glad you didn’t go, Becky,” began her 
aunt. ^‘It was a tiresome walk. How are you 
feeling?” 

feeling fine. Aunty, I’m going into busi- 
ness.” 

‘^Has Captain O’Connor given you a job?” 
laughed Mrs. Fairfield. 

‘‘No. I’m going to charter the Olivette and 
advertise for folks to take a cruise, charge them 
and make some money — enough to pay for my 
own board.” 

“Nora,” laughed Mrs. Fairfield, turning to 
Mrs. O’Connor, “you and Becky must have been 
amusing yourselves ! ’ ’ 

“Law, ma’am,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Connor, 
“ ’tis no joke. She’s figured it all out, an’ I do 
belave she’ll do it.” 

The look that Mrs. Fairfield gave her niece was 
a decided damper to Becky’s enthusiasm. But 
in a tone her aunt had never heard before, Becky 
explained her sudden idea, its development and 
the faith she had in her plan. 

“And now I’ll tell you why I’m doing it,” con- 
cluded Becky. “I told father I would get some- 
thing to do down here if I could. I didn’t know 


Captain O^Connor^s Strange Contract 67 

the town was so small. I just can’t stay here till 
spring if it costs me fifteen dollars a week.” 

‘‘We’ll find a cheaper place then. This scheme 
is ridiculous,” Mrs. Fairfield announced. 

“No, aunty, it isn’t. Mother said I could do 
something. ’ ’ 

“Do you think she would let you run an excur- 
sion boat?” 

“If she knew everything she would,” smiled 
Becky. 

“Well, I don’t. I never heard of a thing so 
preposterous.” 

“It’s too late, aunty,” responded Becky. 
“Here is our contract all written out and signed 
by Captain O’Connor and me. I couldn’t back 
out now if I wanted to.” 


CHAPTER VII 

A NOVEL WINTER CRUISE 

Mrs. Fairfield’s resentment even included the 
innocent Captain O’Connor and his wife. Becky- 
used all her artifices on the homeward sail with- 
out avail. That evening two letters were written 
to Mr. Beckwith. Then Becky opened up the sub- 
ject once more as she went about her delayed 
tasks. 

“You say you are going to pay Mr. and Mrs. 
O’Connor one hundred dollars a month?” 

“Don’t you think that is awfully cheap — only 
a little over three dollars a day ? ’ ’ 

“What will your provisions cost?” 

“The captain says we can get all the fish we 
want for almost nothing — besides oranges and 
pineapples. We can buy oysters for thirty cents 
a bushel. That will help a lot, don’t you think?” 

‘ ‘ Have you figured the cost of bedclothes ? And 
napkins and towels, extra dishes, cots, and furni- 
ture and curtains?” 

“Mrs. O’Connor has some bedclothes — more’n 
you’d think.” 


68 


A 'Novel Winter Cruise 69 

you expect to use the money youVe been 
saving r’ 

‘‘Of course. Mrs. 0 ^Connor says she will take 
some of the things olf my hands at the end of 
the season.’’ 

“All right,” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield, exulting. 
‘ ‘ But suppose you spend your seventy dollars and 
pay out your one hundred dollars for the boat. 
How are you going to get it back?” 

“That is just what I have figured out,” laughed 
Becky. “That makes one hundred and seventy 
dollars. I am going to get four passengers. They 
would have to pay the Coquina fifteen dollars a 
week apiece. That is what I am going to charge 
them. I would get two hundred and forty dollars 
a month. When I had paid for everything I 
would have some bedclothes and dishes left, sev- 
enty dollars, and my own board for nothing. 
Don’t you see? That is how I explained it to 
father and mother,” she went on, “and I do 
wish you wouldn’t act so cross about it.” 

“And you down here to get strong!” protested 
Mrs. Fairfield. “You’re apt to catch cold and 
it’s certain you’ll overexert yourself.” 

“Aunty,” replied Becky in her softest tone, 
“the doctor told me to keep out in the air and 
take plenty of exercise. And he said it ought to 
be something I’m interested in. I’m so eager 


70 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

about this that I know it’ll m^ke me well. Think 
of what happened to me to-day — I never felt so 
well and happy in my life. Please don’t be so 
cross.” 

Mrs. Fairfield could not escape the kiss Becky 
gave her. 

Becky,” she declared finally, ‘‘no one ever 
heard of a girl of your age doing such a thing.” 

“That’s why I want to do it, aunty. And I’m 
going to,” she added, pillowing her head on her 
aunt’s breast, “because you’ve got to let me!” 

“You’ll have to wait till you hear from your 
parents,” Mrs. Fairfield conceded at last. 

“Then that settles it!” shouted Becky. 
“Father always does what I ask. You must 
help me.” 

“I?” exclaimed the astounded woman. “What 
am I to do r ’ 

“Oh, lots of things,” explained the jubilant 
girl. “Buying dishes and things, and planning. 
Please. You know it’s the first time I ever tried 
to do anything.” 

“Well, but I ” 

“You always carry a few sheets and blankets 
and pillows with you, don’t you, aunty?” went on 
the excited girl. “I have been kind of counting 
on some of those ” 


“Why, Marjorie, I ” 


A Novel Winter Cruise 


71 


‘‘And think what a lot thatdl save meT’ 

“Marjorie, I’ll do no such thing. I’m not going 
to let any person that comes along use my bed 
linen. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But, aunty ! What if they ’re nice folks ? And 
that’s what they’re going to be. It’ll be a lot of 
fun to plan it all, won’t it?” 

“Perhaps you’d like to have me go along as 
chambermaid?” Mrs. Fairfield managed to say 
at last. 

Becky, who had begun to fold up her best dress, 
stopped short with open mouth. Then she sprang 
to her agitated relative and threw herself into 
that lady’s lap. 

“Oh, aunty, why didn’t I think of it! We’ll 
make another little room for you. You can come 
as my guest. And it shan’t cost you a cent. 
Won’t that be fine?” 

“Becky,” gasped Mrs. Fairfield as she stood 
the girl on her feet, “I’m going down on the gal- 
lery to compose myself. When I come back I 
want to find you in bed.” 

When Mrs. Fairfield tiptoed into the room 
again — -fearing to awaken her niece to a new at- 
tack — Becky was asleep. She awoke the next 
morning showing no ill effects from her previous 
day’s fall into the river. 

“Now, aunty,” announced the girl, “I’ve got 


72 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

to get my advertisement ready. I^m going to 
send it to St. Augustine.^’ 

think you’d better wait, Marjorie. What if 
some one does want to go with you and you find 
your father objects?” 

‘^Oh, Mrs. O’Connor can take them. There 
won’t be any trouble about that.” 

‘ ‘ How will you get a paper to print your adver- 
tisement? It may cost a lot of money.” 

‘ ^ I have a plan, ’ ’ laughed Becky. ‘ H ’ll be back 
soon.” 

With Mrs. Fairfield still protesting, the girl 
was otf down the slope and a few minutes later 
was at Mr. Carlson’s store. To him she related 
every detail of her idea. 

‘‘Well, miss, I try to do a cash business. I’d 
be sort o’ breakin’ my rule if I give you credit, 
unless I went into a kind o’ partnership with 
you.” 

“Will you?” asked Becky. “Please do!” 

“Bather looks like I’d have to,” answered Mr. 
Carlson. 

Becky was off up the street. At the Times 
office she found Lewis Ahlswede before a type 
case. 

‘ ‘ Hello ! ’ ’ she shouted, as if she and Lewis had 
been friends for years. The boy did not seem so 
agitated over Becky’s ‘hello’ this time. 


A Novel Winter Cruise 


73 


''Mr. Ahlswede/' began the girl, "I want to 
send an advertisement to some paper in St. Au- 
gustine. Will you tell me what to do T ^ 

"Why don’t you print it in the Times ? was 
the boy’s thrifty answer. 

"It’s for rich people. I don’t think there is 
any one around here who’d be interested in what 
I’m advertising. But I don’t know how much 
it’ll cost.” 

Lewis laid down his composing stick, took off 
his black apron and tried to look gracious. But 
he was far from being at ease. Becky had on 
her blue sailor suit, and the black-banded, white 
"middy” hat gave her a new touch of smartness. 

"I’ll do what I can,” Lewis answered. "Mr. 
Owens’s the agent o’ the St. Augustine Record^ 
but he ain’t cornin’ back till to-morrow. What 
kind of ad is it?” 

"Here,” explained Becky, "I’ll read it to you. 
I have put this at the top of it: 'A Novel Winter 
Cruise.’ Then it says: 'A select party of four 
will be received as guests on the schooner Olivette 
for a cruise on the Indian River. Home cooking 
will be supplied, with fresh vegetables and fruit. 
Arrangements must be made for a four weeks’ 
trip. For particulars address Miss Marjorie 
Beckwith, Melbourne, Florida.’ ” 

"That you?” was Lewis’ instant inquiry. 


74 


Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 


to be the manager.’’ 

‘^You ain’t bought the Olivette?^ ^ 

Gracious, no, silly! I’ve leased it, or rented 
it, or something like that.” 

‘‘Lookin’ for some o’ them northern fisher- 
men?” 

“Say,” snapped Becky, “how’d I manage a 
crowd of four men!” 

“Ain’t nothin’ ’bout that here,” retorted 
Lewis. “That ain’t no real, up-to-date ad. I got 
a book about ad writin’. It says ‘say what you 
mean. ’ What you wrote don ’t mean much to me. ’ ’ 

“Perhaps you can do better,” almost sneered 
Becky. 

“If it was an ad for certain things I could,” 
announced Lewis frankly. “But there ain’t 
nothin’ in my book about a young lady charterin’ 
a schooner for a party o’ four people to go 
a-sailin’ for four weeks.” 

“You goose,” retorted Beck^^ smiling now. 
“Of course there isn’t.” 

‘ ‘ Maybe we could write a better piece to- 
gether, ’ ’ Becky added suddenly. ‘ ‘ That is, if you 
have the time.” 

“You tell me what you’re tryin’ to do,” he 
said at last. “Mebbe I’ll have an idea then.” 

For some minutes the girl explained the par- 
ticulars of her plans. In the telling of the story 


A Novel Winter Cruise 


75 


the boy got a part of the tale of the girPs life 
itself. When she had finished Lewis laid before 
Becky a pad of paper. 

^‘You can write an’ spell,” he began. ^‘Put 
down what I say an’ then we can fix it up.” 

Becky tossed her hat on the big table with 
happy expectancy. 

‘ ^ If a mother and three children, ’ ’ began Lewis, 
to Becky’s astonishment, ^‘now in Florida for 
health or recreation want to enjoy a pleasure 
they can’t get again ” 

^ ‘ ^ May never be able to duplicate, ’ ’ ’ suggested 
Becky, substituting the words. 

why not take a cruise in the safe and 

comfortable schooner Olivette? A young woman 
from the north has chartered this schooner. Cap- 
tain Sam O’Connor master, and means to explore 
each bay and inlet of the lake-like Indian Eiver. 
The table will be supplied with fish and oysters 
from the river ; with oranges, pineapples and 
fresh vegetables from the semi-tropic gardens al- 
ways within reach. Those who want to camp out 
on the water for a month, within the sound of 
the ocean swell but safely drifting upon the storm- 
less, verdure-bordered river, may do so at a cost 
far below the ordinary hotel rate. The Olivette 
sails from Melbourne in about a week. For terms 


76 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

and particulars address Miss Marjorie Beckwith, 
care Coquina Hotel/’ 

The composition of this was not the work of a 
few minutes. But, completed at last, Becky ’s face 
showed approval. Not so that of Lewis. 

‘‘It’s too long,” he announced positively. 

“It isn’t — not a hit,” insisted Becky. “If any- 
thing, it ought to be longer.” 

“Yes,” objected Lewis, “but the Record^ s 
purty stiff in its rates. Mebbe it’ll cost more’n 
you want to pay.” 

“How much! A dollar!” asked Becky. 

“A dollar!” repeated Lewis. “Why, we 
charge ten cents a line for local ads, an’ for 
readin’ notices, fifteen cents. Lemme see.” He 
counted the words. “They’s a hundred and fifty- 
four words there, an’ countin’ eight words to a 
line, that’s about nineteen lines. I reckon Mr. 
Owens would make you a low rate considerin’ 
that it’s a big ad. But if he charged you ‘readin’ 
notice’ rates it’d be two dollars an’ eighty-five 
cents. I’ll bet the Record won’t charge you a 
cent less’n five dollars.” 

Becky bit her pencil in alarm. 

“Well, anyway we have got to do it. There 
isn’t any other way, is there!” 

“Did you try all the folks at the hotel!” asked 
Lewis. 


A Novel Winter Cruise 


77 


‘ ‘ Say, ’ ’ replied the girl quickly, ‘ ‘ I didn And 
you know why? They’re a lot of stingy things. 
I want folks who like adventures. Children,” 
she added, ‘ ^ and, if I could, girls. ’ ’ 

“Who’s goin’ to help Cap O’Connor run the 
boat ? ’ ’ Lewis asked as the girl paused. 

“Jupiter Jim,” she answered, “whoever he is. 
Now, what shall we do about getting our notice 
in the Record? Shall I send five dollars with it?” 

“I’ll send the ad,” volunteered the boy, “an’ 
they’ll send the hill to Mr. Owens. Does it read 
right, now?” 

“It’s dandy,” chuckled the girl. “How many 
letters do you think I’ll get?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Lewis. “There ain’t 
nothin’ like this in my book. But that Jupiter 
Jim ain’t been around here for a long time.” 


CHAPTEE VIII 

FITTING UP THE OLIVETTE 

Mrs. Fairfield found it hard to hold out against 
her niece after the girl had agreed that no money 
should be spent until passengers had been secured. 

^ ^ Of course, ’ ’ assented Becky. ‘ ^ You don ^t sup- 
pose Ifil spend my money until I know I’m goin’ 
to get it back, do you? But we can plan, can’t 
we? We’ve got to figure out every little thing 
and put down how much it’s going to cost. And 
it’s a big job to figure out the rooms on the Oliv- 
ette, and where I’m going to sleep and Mrs. Nora 
and Captain Sam. We’ve got to put that on 
paper. That won’t cost anything. But we must 
begin right away ; folks might telegraph and come 
to-morrow. ’ ’ 

Still protesting, Mrs. Fairfield was led to Carl- 
son’s store, where she sat in distressed silence 
while BecW moved about examining calicoes, cur- 
tains, towels, blankets and toilet articles. Some 
things the girl put aside conditionally; among 
these a dozen bottles of Louisiana cane-syrup, so 
generously rich in sugar that a core of rock candy 
78 


Fitting Up the Olivette 


79 


had formed in each. Her aunt finally bought out- 
right, at thirty cents each, five old, dust-covered 
Seminole Indian baskets that Becky unearthed 
from beneath a counter. 

‘ ‘ They ’re fiat and the two big ones ’ll be fine for 
oranges,” explained Becky. ‘H’ll borrow them 
to use on the voyage.” 

At last Mrs. Fairfield’s shopping instincts got 
the better of her reserve and she began to assist 
Becky. After a while she and the girl went to 
the Olivette, Becky insisting that she must re- 
measure and replot the entire schooner. 

‘‘Bless the heart o’ her,” exclaimed Mrs. 
O’Connor, who was peeling potatoes. “Sam,” 
she said, over her shoulder, “here comes the new 
boss ; Cap ’n Becky ’s headin ’ this way. ’ ’ 

“Cap’n Becky’?” exclaimed the skipper from 
the dingy stern, where he was retouching with 
black paint the schooner’s name. “Cap’n o’ 
what I ’ ’ 

“Cap’n o’ what?” repeated Mrs. O’Connor. 
“Why, the cap’n o’ this schooner. She’s to be 
the boss, ain’t she? All signed an’ agreed.” 

“Cap’n Becky, is it?” mumbled the mariner. 
“Well, that ain’t steppin’ on my toes, begorry. 
If Captain Nora can stand for it I’ll be losin’ no 
slape. I’d as lave be bossed by a gurrl as a 
woman ” 


80 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘‘Come aboard, ye loafer, and resave the 
ladies,^’ interrupted bis wife. “Up wid ye and 
show you^re a better gintleman than ye are a 
painter. ’ ’ 

As the skipper assisted Mrs. Fairfield to the 
deck both visitors saw that the Olivette was 
changed; all the sails were neatly furled, the hal- 
yards and sheets coiled and made fast. The fore 
and aft decks and the top of the elevated cabin 
had been scrubbed, and now Captain Sam ap- 
peared in a faded but fresh blue suit. 

“Will ye be goin’ into the basement U’ he 
asked soberly. 

“We’re going below answered Becky, her 
eyes twinkling. “I’m going into the hold and 
then to the galley, ’ ’ she added, laughing, proud of 
her new knowledge. 

“Very good, sir,” responded the skipper, rais- 
ing his finger to his cap. 

“Sir?” repeated Becky. 

“Ain’t ye the cap’n?” grinned Captain Sam. 

“Captain?” continued Becky. 

“Mrs. O’Connor says ye are the boss, an’ the 
boss o’ any vessel is the captain, an’ the captain 
is always ‘sir.’ She’s callin’ ye ‘Captain Becky’ 
already. ’ ’ 

“Oh, you get out!” flashed the girl, as she 


Fitting Up the Olivette 


81 


sprang below. But she was so pleased that she 
was red at the temples. 

‘^Marnin’ to ye, Mrs. Fairfield!’^ sounded in 
the empty hold as Mrs. Nora came forward, tying 
an apron. ‘^An’ marnin’ to Cap’n Becky.’’ 

Becky’s only answer was to throw her arms 
about Mrs. O’Connor’s shoulders and plant a kiss 
on that lady’s brown cheek. 

^^I’ve been clanin’ up a bit,” explained Mrs. 
O’Connor. ^^Seein’ as we’re to be turnin’ the ol’ 
scow intil a yacht, I made Sam dump all his rub- 
bish ashore. We’re goin’ to put on a bit o’ white- 
wash this afternoon an’ it’ll make the place swater 
to the smell an ’ better lookin ’ to the eye. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh, Mrs. O’Connor,” protested Becky, “it 
doesn’t smell bad; it just smells a little shippy. 
I love it.” 

“Ye’ll not be knowin’ the place to-morrow, 
child. Have ye the passengers yet?” 

As Mrs. O’Connor and Mrs. Fairfield seated 
themselves, Becky explained what she had done, 
and then moved here and there, chattering, finding 
new possibilities and only pausing now and then 
to study out some new problem. 

“I’ve been thinkin’,” put in Mrs. O’Connor, at 
last, “there’ll be sivin of us. They’ll never be 
atin’ in the galley, I mane even the five o’ you. 
An’ as for slapin’, where’ll you stow ’em? ^n’ 


82 


Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 


them swell folks like as not who must have their 
bedroom an ’ drissin ’ room an ’ bathroom aich. ’ ’ 

^‘Oh, don’t worry about those things,” laughed 
Becky. Folks never used to have bathtubs ; they 
used to have just tubs. Look ! ’ ’ and she ran to the 
little washroom to the left of the companionway. 
‘^It’s dreadfully small, but we can put a tub in 
here. I don’t know whether I can get a tin tub, 
but we can get a washiub. And there ’s no end of 
water. ’ ’ 

‘^But the atin’, miss?” went on Mrs. O’Connor. 

‘‘We will not eat in the galley,” answered 
Becky. “That is the kitchen. You have got to 
have plenty of room to cook for seven people. ’ ’ 

“Eight,” corrected Mrs. O’Connor. “We for- 
got Jupiter Jim. He’s got to be fed — something.” 

“Of course,” answered Becky. “That’s why 
the galley’s going to be the kitchen. You’re to 
have the old table for your kitchen table. We’ll 
eat out here. On one side we’re going to have 
little staterooms and on the other side it’s to be 
all open, with a big table and chairs and maybe a 
lounge. ’ ’ 

“And you’re expecting Mrs. O’Connor to see to 
all these things?” interrupted Mrs. Fairfield. 

“Dear me, no!” replied Becky. “That’s what 
we have to do, aunty. You saw the cretonne at 
the store — the piece with the green palm leaves? 


83 


Fitting Up the Olivette 

When it’s all white in here, I can just .see the 
green leaves standing out. We’ll make a center- 
piece out of it for the table. And we’ll get a big 
green bowl, and chairs with cretonne covers. ’ ’ 

We ’ll have to have a sewing machine to do 
that,” asserted Mrs. Fairfield suddenly, forget- 
ting herself. 

^ ‘ Certainly, ’ ’ answered Becky. ‘ ‘ The Daubigny 
sisters have one. We can work there ” 

‘^In a shop?” broke in her aunt. ‘^Certainly 
not. Besides,” she qualified, as she recalled her 
opposition to the plan, ‘‘I think it foolish to be 
spending money before you have some excuse 
for it.” 

‘‘I’ll spend mine first, aunty,” laughed Becky. 

“And if your father doesn’t consent?” 

“He must! The doctors told me to keep out- 
doors and on the water. There, I forgot all about 
the water. I guess that settles it, aunty. ’ ’ 

“Mrs. Fairfield,” suggested Mrs. O’Connor, 
slowly, “let the child go ahead. It’ll be no great 
expinse, an’ if the worst comes, me an’ the cap- 
tain’ll try to make it good to ye. I’ve a bit 
put by.” 

“Becky,” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield, “I will 
come out to the Olivette and help you ” 

Becky’s arms shut off her aunt’s breath and 
the kiss Mrs. Fairfield got stopped her speech. 


84 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

Not to be partial, the girl flew to Mrs. Nora’s 
side and gave her a squeeze. Then, with a rush 
of words, she began explaining her plans. 

On the right of the companionway and opposite 
the washroom. Captain O’Connor and his wife 
were to sleep in the little cabin. 

^^Sam!” called out Mrs. O’Connor at once, 
‘‘drop that paint brush and go right up to Carl- 
son’s for a bucket of lime. You got to whitewash 
ever ’thing this afternoon. Here ’s the money. ’ ’ 

The obedient husband having been dispatched 
on this errand, Mrs. O’Connor resumed her chair. 
“We’ll make out with the little room all right,” 
she declared. “I’ve a locker under the for’ard 
deck an’ I’ll keep most o’ my things in that.” 

“Now,” resumed Becky, her eyes radiant, “the 
cabin for our passengers is to be here.” She 
stepped to the port side of the hold. “It’s nine- 
teen feet from the galley to the washroom, and 
at the widest place seven and a half feet. The 
curtain will shut off a room that size. We can put 
four cots, a dressing stand and a trunk in it.” 

“And where are you to sleep?” asked her aunt. 

“On a couch out here. All my things will be 
inside it,” replied Becky, proudly. 

When Captain Becky and her aunt left the 
Olivette it was noon. After dinner Mrs. Fair- 
field made good her promise by visiting the little 


85 


Fitting Up the Olivette 

shop and renting a sewing machine. Becky went 
with her to pay for her pralines and to feast her 
eyes again on the shirt waist. 

‘‘Now we^re coming to the best part/’ Becky 
almost shouted, grasping her aunt’s arm, as they 
reached the street again; “buying things. We’ll 
get everything to-day, aunty, and send them right 
out to the boat. ’ ’ 

“Don’t you think it hasty to get the cretonne 
and wire and rings to-day I You know nothing’s 
settled as yet. ’ ’ 

Instead of replying, Becky directed her hesi- 
tating relative to Mr. Carlson’s store. 

“Mr. Carlson,” she began, “if we get all the 
things I’ve been talking about and then we find 
we don’t need them, may we send them back — 
that is, things that we haven’t cut!” 

“Why, sure!” replied the philosophic store- 
keeper. ‘ ‘ They ain ’t gettin ’ no older in your care 
than they are in mine. An’ it’s a cinch they ain’t 
gettin’ shopworn.” 


CHAPTEE IX 


ANOTHEK BOY APPEAES 

The following day Mrs. Fairfield completely sur- 
rendered, so far as assisting in the Olivette^ s dec- 
oration. The sewing machine was delivered, the 
curtain material purchased, and with Mrs. Fair- 
field and Mrs. O’Connor buzzing away on one 
side of the hold and Captain Sam and Captain 
Becky tacking and twisting screw-eyes on the 
other side, the actual work began. 

‘‘Some one might telegraph, you know,” ex- 
plained Becky to Lewis Ahlswede, having gone out 
of her way at noon to consult her friend. “7 would 
if I had money and such a splendid chance. ’ ’ 

“O’ course,” Lewis replied. “But a lot 
folks like steamboats an’ them wheel chairs down 
to Palm Beach. I wouldn’t count too much on 
gettin’ a nibble from that ad.” 

“Oh, but I must,” insisted Becky. “If some 
one doesn’t answer — and come — I’ll lose a lot of 
money.” 

The evening mail brought no letters. But the 
St. Augustine paper arrived and Becky, with an 


Another Boy Appears 87 

attempt at composure, read her first printed com- 
position. Lewis was not less proud of their joint 
work, although he made some professional com- 
plaint concerning its location in the paper. 

‘‘It should ’a’ been right on this page, near the 
‘Arrivals Yesterday’ or the ‘Guests at the Big 
Hotels,’ ” he commented critically, “instead o’ 
bein’ among the ‘Houses to Bent.’ ” 

“You know an awful lot about newspapers, Mr. 

< — Mr. Ahlswede. I suppose, some day, you will 
own one,” replied Becky, admiringly. 

“I’m goin’ to be a reporter, anyway,” answered 
Lewis, “but mebbe it’ll be a long time. What 
d’you know about schools that learn you by 
correspondin ’ ? ” 

“I don’t really know anything about them,” 
replied Becky, with interest. “But I’ll find out. 
Perhaps we could find out right away if we wrote 
to an editor.” 

“Ain’t no use, just now,” declared Lewis. “I 
ain’t got no money.” 

This did not seem to depress him greatly, and 
as Becky had no other suggestion, she left. 

No telegrams arrived that day, but Becky was 
full of hope for the next, which she figured was 
about as soon as she could expect to receive an 
inquiry. The next day passed, however, without 
response, and as she had arranged for but one 


88 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

insertion of the advertisement, the disappearance 
of it from that day’s paper made her regret that 
she had been so short-sighted. 

Becky visited the Times office the next morning 
to take counsel with her friend. The boy was not 
in sight, but Mr. Owens, the proprietor of the 
paper, sat at the desk. Somewhat alarmed, the 
girl was about to ask for the young man, when 
she realized that her business dealing had really 
been with the Times office, and not with Lewis. 

‘‘How do you do, sir*?” began the girl. 

‘ ‘ Grood morning, ’ ’ replied the man, curtly. ‘ ‘ Can 
I do anything for you % ’ ’ 

“Mr. Ahlswede sent an advertisement to the 
St. Augustine paper for me,” Becky answered. 
“I’ve come to pay for it.” 

Mr. Owens turned to his desk and picked up a 
piece of paper. 

“An advertisement about a schooner cruise on 
the river!” he asked. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Becky, her lips set to keep 
them from trembling, and her hand clutching her 
pocket-book. 

“Six dollars,” remarked the man, abruptly. 

Becky gasped inwardly at the thought of paying 
out that much money for nothing. She opened 
her purse and was overjoyed to see a new five- 
dollar bill and two silver half-dollars among the 


Another Boy Appears 


89 


small change. Careful that the man should not 
see how little was left in the purse, she took out 
the six dolars. 

‘‘Here it is, sir.^^ 

As the editor ^s scratchy pen crawled over the 
paper, writing a receipt, Lewis Ahlswede entered 
the office with a page of “copy’’ in his discolored 
hand. Mr. Owens handed the paper to Becky 
and she laid the six dollars on the desk. She had 
not spoken to the boy, but was folding the receipt. 
Nor was Lewis looking at the girl. His eyes were 
on the money. 

“I’m obliged to you,” was all Becky could say. 
And then, her temples burning with chagrin, she 
left the office. Her first business venture had 
been a failure. It seemed the end of everything. 
That morning she went about her work on the 
schooner without her usual spirits. But she did 
not complain to Mrs. 0 ’Connor any more than she 
complained to the editor of the Times, She was 
disappointed in Lewis Ahlswede. 

“But I might have known,” she said to herself. 
“He hasn’t had any experience. He made me 
spend my six dollars for nothing. Well, there is 
no use crying over spilled milk, as my father 
would say. I’ve got to get busy myself now, or 
everything is going to be a muss and my money 
lost.” 


90 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Becky remained on the Olivette for luncheon. 
Her method of starting something’’ was, later, 
to sit on the big bowsprit and think. The harder 
she thought, the more completely she abandoned 
hope of securing passengers from St. Augustine. 

‘^Of course, my advertisement might bring re- 
sults yet,” she argued. ‘‘Perhaps the people 
there are too rich to care for such a thing, and 
if that is so, then the idea was not a good one. 
But I think it is. I wonder if I could afford to 
go to St. Augustine or Palm Beach and look 
around for myself!” she continued. Then the 
thought of the big, fashionable hotels scared her. 
‘ ‘ It would be worse than being a book agent, ’ ’ she 
concluded. Perhaps she could make the venture 
a local one. A very low rate might attract the 
regular visitors of the Coquina. If that failed, 
she speculated on making trips of two or three 
days’ duration with an increased number of pas- 
sengers. Finally, she determined to reduce her 
rate as low as possible and make an attempt to 
get four ladies from the hotel. 

Late in the afternoon Becky heard the south- 
bound train come in. It warned her that it was 
time to return to the hotel, but it did not suggest 
‘ ‘ letters ’ ’ to her. For the first time in three days 
she was not concerned over the mail. It was grow- 
ing dusk when she reached the shore end of the 


91 


Another Boy Appears 

pier. As she was about to hasten to the hotel, 
Lewis Ahlswede stepped from the platform in 
front of Carlson’s store. 

‘‘You hadn’t ought to ’a’ paid six dollars,” was 
his salutation. “The bill for that ad was only 
three dollars. I told Mr. Owens we done all the 
work, an ’ I thought he was chargin ’ too much. ’ ’ 

Becky was already a little sorry that she had 
blamed the boy so hastily. “It’s all right,” she 
answered. ‘ ‘ I reckon Mr. Owens can charge what 
he pleases.” 

“It’s wrong,” exclaimed Lewis. “But I didn’t 
get no chance. I’m sorry ” 

“I guess it was all a mistake,” broke in Becky. 
“But you weren’t to blame. You can’t help what 
Mr. Owens does.” 

“You didn ’t get any answers, ’ ’ continued Lewis, 
as if hardly hearing the girl’s excuse for him, 
“but it wasn’t a mistake. We’ve got to keep at 
it. Now we know what it costs an’ we can do it 
ourselves. I’ve been waitin’ to tell you. Let’s 
send it by the morning train and have it printed 
again. It’ll only cost three dollars.” 

“Three dollars!” cried Becky. “Why, that 
will be nine dollars altogether. You must think 
I have got a lot of money.” 

“I’ll lend you a dollar and a half,” answered 
Lewis, quickly. Then, seeing the girl’s flush, he 


92 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

added, can pay me back when everything’s 

all right.” 

‘‘That is fine of yon, Mr. Ahlswede,” replied 
Becky, “but I couldn’t do that. I guess you are 
right about sending it in again, but if we do I 
will furnish the money. Don’t you feel sorry 
about what Mr. Owens did. And please don ’t say 
anything to him; he might not like it. You have 
done a lot of nice things for me ” 

‘ ‘ Do you want to get it in to-night ’s mail ? ’ ’ the 
boy interrupted. 

“Yes,” replied the girl, decisively. “Come up 
to the hotel after supper and we ’ll fix it. ’ ’ 

Becky held out her hand and with a reassuring 
smile tripped up the path. Before she could 
mount the gallery steps, she came upon her aunt. 

Halting her niece with outstretched arms, Mrs. 
Fairfield exclaimed in a frightened undertone: 

“Well, you have done it. They’re here!” 

“Who is here!” 

“A whole family from St. Augustine to see 
about your foolish idea.” 

“Here! Nobody wrote. How did they know!” 
Becky’s face was white. 

‘ ‘ They just arrived on the evening train. They 
are all in there. Go right up and change your 
dress, and fix your hair. ’ ’ 


Another Boy Appears 93 

‘^What do they look likeT’ went on the girl, 
unmindful of her dress and hair. 

‘‘Look likeT' repeated Mrs. Fairfield. “Well, 
they will never go on that old boat — they are from 
New York. I think they are disgusted.^’ 

“How manyF’ asked the girl, releasing herself 
and peering into the office. 

“Four of them,’’ answered her aunt in a whis- 
per. “A woman, two girls and a boy.” 

“A boy?” repeated Becky. “How old is he?” 

“About as old as you are,” said Mrs. Fairfield. 

“But the advertisement read ‘children.’ ” 

“That’s just it,” continued Mrs. Fairfield; 
“you can’t take a hoy, of course.” 

“Why can’t I?” asked Becky suddenly, as she 
faced her aunt, her busy brain already whirling 
her plans about. It’s just another passenger, and 
that’s good luck. What kind of a boy is he?” 

‘ ‘ They will not go at all, ’ ’ announced Mrs. Fair- 
field, decisively. “Not when they see how things 
are. And I don’t see that it matters what the 
boy looks like.” 

“There he is now,” interrupted Becky, as the 
young gentleman in question stepped from the 
office onto the gallery. “Looks as if his folks had 
plenty of money. ’ ’ 

Becky paused for only a moment longer to make 
a quick survey of the youth, who was humming 


94 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

an air that was new to her, then with decisive 
steps crossed the gallery and walked briskly into 
the office. 

Although she gave no sign of having seen the 
hoy, she knew he was tall and thin, wore his hair 

brush hack,’’ and was garbed in a fresh outing 
suit of blue. He ceased his humming instantly, 
gazed at Becky intently and then, at a little dis- 
tance, followed her into the hotel. 

Near the desk, with articles of travel piled about 
them, were a woman and two girls. The woman 
sat very erect, her face showing the fatigue of 
travel and a trace of annoyance. One girl, about 
Becky’s age, smartly dressed and wearing a limp 
straw hat with a wealth of creamy veiling, was 
a likeness of her mother in expression. An imme- 
diate glow of satisfaction swept over Becky. The 
hat was almost a duplicate of the one she had 
worn on her trip to the south. The other girl, 
a child perhaps eight years old, was stretched 
far out in her chair, rocking contentedly and 
apparently enjoying herself. As Becky entered, 
the proprietor of the hotel spoke to the woman, 
the latter turning toward the approaching girl. 

^^This lady wishes to see you. Miss Beckwith,” 
the proprietor called to Becky as she was, appar- 
ently, about to pass. 

Becky, who was again in her sailor suit with 


95 


Another Boy Appears 

the low collar and black tie, and hatless as usual, 
stopped. Alarmed inwardly, for every garment on 
the woman and the two girls indicated exclusive- 
ness and good taste, Becky summoned her cour- 
age to put on her best smile — the one in which 
her straight, set lips wandered off in little curves 
of half merriment. 

^‘Is this Miss Beckwith 

Becky bowed, and before she could speak the 
woman added: 

‘‘You had an advertisement in the St. Augustine 
BecordV* 

“ Yes ! Did you come to see about it T ^ 

The woman, before replying, drew her upper lip 
over the lower and seemed to be making an inven- 
tory of the girl. 

“I was rather interested in the idea,’’ she said 
at last in a noncommittal way. “We have been at 
the ‘Ponce’ for a few weeks. I thought such a 
cruise might prove a diversion, if nothing more. 
We have heard a great deal about the Indian 
Eiver. ’ ’ 

“ Is it a regular sailors ’ boat ? ’ ’ broke in a voice 
behind Becky. ‘ ‘ How fast can it go ? ” 

“Schuyler!” exclaimed the woman, with a nod 
toward the boy, “we will come to that in time.” 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” announced Becky, ignor- 
ing the boy and referring to the river. “I’m 


96 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

sure you’d like it and the boat. It’s a lovely old 
thing. ’ ’ 

^‘It’s a yacht, isn’t it?” inquired the elder girl, 
with a first show of interest. 

‘‘Dear me, no!” answered Becky. “It’s an old 
freight boat. But it’s lovely.” 

“A freight boat!” exclaimed the woman, 
straightening. The elder daughter looked at her 
mother and sank back in her chair wearily. 

“ Yes, ” answered Becky, with dignity. ‘ ‘ W ould 
you like to know about it ? ” 

“You bet!” exclaimed the suppressed boy; 
“tell us.” 


CHAPTEE X 


OKANGE BLOSSOM DIPLOMACY 

Becky’s visitor now introduced herself as Mrs. 
Egbert Hatton of New York, explaining that she 
was in the south for the benefit of her children’s 
health, and then introduced these as Lucile, Euth, 
and Schuyler. Lucile was about Becky’s age, the 
boy a little older, and Euth not more than eight. 

Two girls could hardly have been more dis- 
similar than Miss Hatton and Becky. Lucile was 
plainly bored by everything about her and, not 
least, by the talk about the Olivette, On this sub- 
ject Euth was all interest when she was not doz- 
ing. The boy, if not interested in the schooner, 
gave plain signs of having an interest in his new 
surroundings. When Becky invited Mrs. Hatton 
and her family into the parlor of the hotel for a 
further conference, Mrs. Hatton turned to her 
son. 

Schuyler,” she said, ‘‘you can stay here and 
look after our things.” 

“Why don’t they take them to our rooms'?” 
asked the boy. “I’m tired of standing around 
doing nothing.” 


97 


98 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘‘I must see what our plans are to be, first, 
responded his mother. 

^‘It doesn^t make much difference, mother,” 
put in Lucile, wearily, as she took off her hat. 

There is no other train to-day. We canT leave 
— whatever the name of this place is — to-night. 
You might have written a letter and saved all this 
bother. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Mother, ’ ’ interrupted the younger girl, ‘ ‘ when 
are we going to have tea ! ’ ^ 

‘‘Tea!” repeated her indifferent sister. “I’m 
past tea long ago. All I hope for is a decent bed. ’ ’ 

“We will have supper in a half hour, ’ ’ explained 
Becky. ‘ ‘ But we can have some tea in the parlor 
now if you like. ’ ’ 

“Thank you,” answered Mrs. Hatton, politely. 
“We won’t bother you. Schuyler, please look 
after the things.” 

As Mrs. Hatton roused the youngest child and 
led her into the parlor, Lucile languidly announced 
that she would go out on the gallery, while the 
boy dropped into a chair and began another song. 
But he kept his eyes on Becky. 

The conference began with Mrs. Hatton’s ask- 
ing Becky what her advertisement meant and how 
she, a young girl, happened to be in charge of such 
a project. 


Orange Blossom Diplomacy 99 

‘ ‘ Do you expect to take your son % ’ ’ was Becky ’s 
reply. ‘ ^ You know I said ‘ mother and children. ’ ’ ’ 

‘'Oh/' replied Mrs. Hatton, “I did not suppose 
that would make any difference. If there is any 
objection, perhaps we may as well call the matter 
closed. ' ' 

“I'm not objecting," put in Becky, instantly. 
“But it's easier to fix things if we are all women; 
a boy is so in the way, you know. I just don't see 
where we will put him. ' ' 

“Haven't you staterooms?" asked Mrs. Hatton, 
in some alarm. 

“Good gracious, no!" answered Becky. “I 
haven't had time to explain. We're just going to 
have curtains and we have an awful little place 
for cots." 

“Cots!" exclaimed the other. Then a smile 
came over her face. “In that event I'm really 
afraid we have made quite a useless journey. I 
should have written. ' ' 

“I am dreadfully sorry," broke in Becky at 
once. “It's going to be just like camping out, and 
I 'm sure you would be pleased. I 've tried to make 
everything comfortable, and I know you would 
like Mrs. O'Connor's cooking. Maybe, if you'd 
look at the schooner you might try it. ' ' 

But Mrs. Hatton was shaking her head. Then, 
as if to absolutely satisfy herself, she asked : 


100 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘^You have bathing facilities, of course T’ 

‘‘Only a little bit of a washroom and a new 
tin tub. But we have beautiful water, and down 
at the ocean inlet we ’ll have real surf bathing. ’ ’ 

“Lucile will hardly care for that, I am afraid,” 
smiled Mrs. Hatton. ‘ ‘ She is rather delicate, and 
must have a warm bath to put her to sleep. ’ ’ 

“They say I’m delicate, too,” spoke up Becky. 
“But after I got busy fixing the Olivette, I began 
to feel strong right away. It doesn’t take any- 
thing now to make me sleep. Maybe it would do 
your daughter good! I’d love to have you, and 
I’ve been thinking we might curtain off a little 
corner for your son.” 

Mrs. Hatton was too polite to show annoyance, 
but it was plain that she saw few possibilities in 
Becky’s cruise. 

“I haven’t really told you anything about it 
yet,” Becky went on, desperately. “Can’t I go 
and find your daughter and explain everything to 
both of you. I’d like to.” 

“If you wish,” answered the visitor. 

As Becky dashed out of the living room, Mrs. 
Hatton leaned back in her chair and gazed in an 
amused way about the rather garish apartment. 

During the little talk between Mrs. Hatton and 
Becky, events were transpiring out in the office. 
Schuyler Hatton, his heels clicking together in 


Orange Blossom Diplomacy 101 

time to Ms subdued song, and Ms eyes following 
each movement of Becky’s bead in the room, 
did not notice a boy who entered. This was Lewis 
AMswede, notebook in hand. 

Who’s the folks ’at just come?” asked Lewis 
of the proprietor. 

^‘You got me,” answered the latter. ‘^They 
haven’t registered, an’ if they do I can’t accom- 
modate all of ’em. The woman was in a terrible 
rush to see Miss Beckwith.” 

Word of the new guests had reached Lewis and 
he had hurried to the hotel to get the ‘ ‘ arrivals. ’ ’ 
Learning that the boy in the rocking-chair was 
one of the ^‘arrivals,” Lewis hastened to him. 

‘‘How d’you do!” he began. “Just get in! 
I’m a reporter for the Melbourne Times. If you’re 
visitin ’ our city I ’d like to have the names o ’ your 
party for the paper. ’ ’ 

The boy withdrew his gaze from the next room 
to look Lewis over. Then a thought seemed to 
flash upon him. “Say, do you live here!” he 
asked. 

“Most o’ the time.” 

“D’you know that red-headed girl in there, 
the boy continued, nodding toward the parlor. 
Lewis ’ eyes followed the motion. 

“That’s Miss Beckwith.” 


102 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


‘‘Yes, I know,’’ answered the boy, “but what 
do they call her!” 

‘ ‘ Becky, I think. ’ ’ 

“Pretty swell girl for a crossroads like this,” 
commented the stranger, as he resumed his 
rocking. 

‘ ‘ She don ’t live here. She ’s from Chicago. ’ ’ 

“Looks like a Jap to me,” resumed the new 
arrival, as if he did not want to be suspected of 
undue interest. 

“If you mean her,” replied the reporter, “she 
don’t look red-headed to me, or like no Jap, 
neither. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I see!” chuckled the other. “I got you 
located.” 

As Lewis did not understand the meaning of 
this remark, he made no answer, and, it was at 
this point that Becky rushed into the hall. 

“Where’s your sister!” she exclaimed, hurry- 
ing to young Hatton ’s chair. ‘ ‘ Mrs. Hatton wants 
her and I’ve come to find her.” Then, noticing 
Lewis, Becky nodded and turned toward the door. 

“She’s out there. I’ll help you find her,” an- 
swered the boy, with alacrity. Springing up, he 
and Becky hurried out onto the gallery. The pro- 
prietor also having disappeared, Lewis was about 
to leave, when he noticed Mrs. Hatton in the par- 


Orange Blossom Diplomacy 103 

lor. His reportorial instincts returned, and grasp- 
ing Ms notebook, be made bis way into tbe room. 

‘‘Good evening,’^ be began. “I^m a reporter of 
tbe Melbourne Times, If you’re visiting our city, 
I’d like to bave tbe names of your party for tbe 
paper.” 

“Tbank you,” responded Mrs. Hatton, coldly, 
but with a smile of amusement. ‘ ‘ My party is my 
family, and I believe we do not care for public 
mention. My son is in tbe office. Will you be 
good enough to ask bim to come to me I” 

“Him and Miss Beckwitb bave gone out look- 
ing for your daughter, ’ ’ explained Lewis. 

“Tbank you,” rejoined Mrs. Hatton. “Good 
evening. ’ ’ 

Lewis closed bis'notebook and withdrew. Arous- 
ing tbe sleepy girl on her knee, Mrs. Hatton, with 
unconcealed annoyance, followed tbe reporter into 
tbe office and thence to tbe desk. Tbe proprietor 
had returned. 

“I would like to have three rooms for tbe 
night,” she began, a little curtly. “Something 
with bath.” 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we haven’t but one 
room left, an ’ that ’s got only one bed in it. I could 
put a cot in it ” 

“But my two daughters and my son are with 


104 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

me. We must have accommodation. I believe there 
is no train leaving this evening ? ’ ’ 

The man shook his head, and then added : 

can get the young man a room at a hoarding- 
house. ’ ’ 

The woman compressed her lips. 

‘‘We can procure food, I presume T’ 

“Oh, yes, plenty o ’ that, ” the proprietor assured 
her. “Supper’ll be ready in a few minutes. I’ll 
try to fix you up to-morrow. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, but I fancy we will be leaving in 
the morning.” 

“Like to register?” asked the hotel owner. 

“Mrs. Egbert Hatton and family of New York,” 
said the lady, in an icy tone, as she turned away, 
and, with her youngest child at her side, again 
entered the parlor. 

An examination of the gallery revealed to Becky 
that Miss Hatton was not there. The moon was 
already tracing a line of silver across the black 
of the river. 

“Maybe she’s gone to look at the river,” sug- 
gested Becky. 

‘ ‘ Where ? ’ ’ asked the young man. Without an- 
swering, Becky hurried forward, Schuyler follow- 
ing. On a little rise at the left, where a rustic 
settee afforded a view of the river, Becky dis- 
cerned the figure of the missing girl. 


Orange Blossom Diplomacy 105 

‘‘Did you ever see the river before T’ asked 
Becky, as she and the boy advanced. 

“What river? Where?’’ 

‘ ‘ Why, the Indian Kiver, ’ ’ laughed Becky. 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, sure. Where is it ? ” 

“Keep on the path or you’ll be in it,” exclaimed 
Becky, as she caught the boy by the arm and gave 
him a jerk. “It’s right down there where you 
can ’t see. Can you swim ? ’ ’ 

“Yes — no — that is, a little,” answered Schuy- 
ler. “Where is the path?” 

“Just follow me,” exclaimed Becky, and she 
hurried toward the settee. 

“Miss Hatton, your mother says if you’ll come 
in we’ll talk over the cruise.” 

“I don’t want to talk it over. I don’t care 
about it. ” 

“Hey, sis!” cried the brother, now arriving. 
“Just cut that out ; don’t knock everything. Be- 
sides, you’d better be going in. You’re always 
staying out at night — because the doctor says you 
mustn’t, I reckon.” 

“It isn’t going to hurt her,” interposed Becky, 
stoutly. “That’s what they told me, too. But I 
do everything I want to, and I’m feeling a lot 
better than I did when I came.” 

“Don’t you live here?” asked Miss Lucile. 


106 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘^She lives in Chicago/’ explained Schuyler. 
‘ ^ You ’d better hustle in. Mother sent for you. ’ ’ 

Lucile arose and stepped to Schuyler ’s side. 

‘‘Don’t you think it’s nice out here?” asked 
Becky, as she again glanced at the moonlight 
and sniffed anew the wild honeysuckle lining the 
top of the bluff. 

“It’s great,” answered the boy. “Smells like 
a flower shop.” 

“It’s so still it gives me the creeps,” declared 
his sister, ‘ ‘ and I ’m getting cold. ’ ’ The hotel rose 
before them, its dark porch showing a few wink- 
ing lights. “Isn’t much like the Ponce,” the girl 
added, in some disgust. 

“You bet it isn’t,” answered the boy instantly; 
“not if you are referring to marble floors and 
a lot of lazy people, and oceans of fancy work for 
sale, and stacks of postcards. Say,” he went on, 
catching his sister by the arm, ‘ ‘ see all that black 
down there that the moonlight’s plastered on! 
Well, that’s the Indian Eiver. That’s where we 
are going in Becky’s boat.” 

“Becky!” exclaimed the precise Lucile. 

“Sure! Isn’t your name Becky asked the 
boy. 

“My friends call me Becky,” laughed the girl. 
‘ ‘ There is the bell. Supper is ready. ’ ’ 

The three hurried forward. At the gallery 


Orange Blossom Diplomacy 107 

steps Miss Lucile passed up without further word 
or look for Becky. Just then Becky noticed Lewis 
Ahlswede sitting on the edge of the gallery. 

Hello!’’ she exclaimed, jovially, waving her 
hand at the reporter. ‘‘Had your supper?” 

Lewis made no response, nor did Becky wait 
for one. She had forgotten all about the work 
they were to do together. As Schuyler and Lucile 
joined their mother in the parlor, Mrs. Fairfield 
took charge of her niece.” 

“You see what you’ve done!” began Becky’s 
aunt at once. “You’ve gotten those people down 
here and they’re not going with you. The mother 
is angry and is sorry she came. Besides, there 
isn’t room enough in the hotel to keep them over- 
night. The boy will have to go to a boarding 
house. You should have thought of these things. ’ ’ 

“I’m thinking now,” exclaimed Becky, with a 
smile. “They’ll stay and they’ll go with me — 
when they understand. ’ ’ 

With a cluck of disgust, Mrs. Fairfield rose to 
go in to supper. 

“I’ll be in in a minute,” explained Becky, and 
before her aunt could stop her she was out on 
the gallery. “Lewis!” she called as she hurried 
to where the reporter still sat. “Will you do 
something for me!” 

‘ ‘ Sure, ’ ’ answered the boy. ‘ ‘ What ’s doin ’ ! ” 


108 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

want you to go down to Mr. Carlson’s and 
get two dozen of his best Indian River oranges. 
Slip up on the bluff and gather a lot of honey- 
suckle. Then go out in the Coquina’s grove and 
get some orange branches and blossoms, and take 
everything out to the Olivette right away. Tell 
Mrs. O’Connor we are going to have fashionable 
company about eight o’clock, and ask her to fix 
up the boat,” 


CHAPTEE XI 

MBS. O’CONNOB SEBVES COFFEE 

Becky could see that the meal that followed was 
not putting the visitors in better humor. She 
shivered with alarm when she found the oysters 
served on warm plates and a taste of her own 
cotfee was enough to convince her that one 
night and two meals might easily send her desired 
guests back to St. Augustine. 

After supper, without further word to Becky, 
Mrs. Hatton and her family at once disappeared 
upstairs. The opportunity for a talk with the 
lady and Lucile seemed lost, but the determined 
girl seated herself in the office. She was discour- 
aged, but she had not given up. 

About twenty minutes later Mrs. Hatton and 
her son reappeared, the boy with a bag, as if 
prepared for hi^ night in the boarding-house. 
His mother, a little more genial, smiled and 
nodded at Becky. 

hoped Miss Lucile would come down, too,^’ 
said Becky, hurrying to Mrs. Hatton ^s side. You 
109 


110 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

know I haven’t really told yon about the cruise 
yet.” 

^‘She is too tired,” answered the lady. ‘‘And, 
besides, I think it hardly worth while. We have 
agreed to back to St. Augustine to-morrow.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” exclaimed Becky. “I think, 
if you just saw my boat ” 

“Sis will go, mother,” interrupted the boy. 
“She’s only got one of her grouches to-night. 
She wasn’t so sore when she was out on the 
bench. You’re all mad about the eats.” 

Mrs. Hatton smiled and Mrs. Fairfield came up. 
While the two were exchanging formalities, Becky 
turned to the boy. 

“Is it all settled*?” she asked, her lips set. 

“Not on your life!” answered Schuyler in an 
undertone. ‘ ‘ Stick to it, and I ’ll help you. ’ ’ 

“You can help me right now,” answered Becky, 
hastily and nervously. “I want to go out to the 
schooner this evening, and I want you and your 
mother to go with me. It will be grand out 
there. The breeze is coming in from the ocean 
and the moon is making it light as day. Do get 
her to come.” 

Schuyler sprang to his mother’s side. There 
was a lifting of eyebrows, looks of protest, ques- 
tions, and a shaking of the head. Mrs. Fairfield 
seemed not less surprised. Becky broke in. 


Ill 


Mrs, 0^ Connor Serves Coffee 

‘‘Aunty, Mrs. 0 ^Connor is expecting us to come 
out to the boat to-night. The air is fine and the 
moon is lovely — just look!’’ She pointed through 
the door. The black river was spangled with 
silver. “It’s not far. I wish Mrs. Hatton and 
you would come with me.” 

Mrs. Hatton looked at Becky curiously. “How 
far is it?” she asked, cautiously. 

“Oh, just at the end of the pier,” explained 
Becky, not mentioning that the pier was three 
hundred yards long. “And I’d so like to have 
you see the boat. Maybe you could tell your 
friends about it, ’ ’ added Becky, her straight smile 
showing, although her clenched fingers did not. 

“Why, of course,” answered Mrs. Hatton, with 
a gracious smile. “Since you put it that way. 
I’ll be glad to accept your invitation — that is, if 
Mrs. Fairfield cares to join us.” 

Mrs. Fairfield did not really care to, for it 
meant a long walk, but it flashed over her that 
there was some kind of a crisis in Becky’s pro- 
gram, and she hesitated to refuse. 

“Shall I get Lucile?” volunteered the energetic 
Schuyler. 

“She had better stay with Euth,” answered 
Mrs. Hatton. “Lucile is putting her to bed now. 
The girls are very poor travelers,” she added. 
‘ ‘ Get my coat, Schuyler. ’ ’ 


112 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘‘I’ll get yours, aunty,” exclaimed Becky, jubi- 
lantly, and she and the boy sprang for the stairs. 
On the upper landing Schuyler turned to Becky. 

“Say,” he panted, “couldn’t we pull off a 
moonlight sail out there?” 

“Certainly,” responded Becky, promptly, not 
hesitating to promise anything that might create 
interest. The boy had not returned when Becky 
joined Mrs. Hatton and her aunt, but a moment 
later he came clattering downstairs. 

“Sis and the kid want to go, too, mother,” 
he announced. “And they’ll be ready in a 
minute.” Mrs. Hatton’s eyes opened with sur- 
prise. “I thought Euth was in bed,” she ex- 
claimed. 

“She’s getting up. She heard me telling sis 
about it. She got right up and said she was 
going sailing, too.” 

“Sailing?” repeated Mrs. Hatton, astonished. 
“You are not going sailing, are you? At night?” 

“Not unless you like,” responded Becky. 

“And Lucile?” went on Mrs. Hatton. “I 
thought she was tired.” 

“Well, I told her about it, and she’s afraid she 
will miss something.” 

Mrs. Hatton shook her head with a weary smile, 
while Becky told her how glad they would be to 
have the girls in the party. Finally, as if resign- 


113 


Mrs, 0^ Connor Serves Coffee 

ing herself, she went upstairs to take charge of 
the preparations. 

About eight o^clock, with the frogs croaking in 
the bayou under the distant railway bridge, the 
odor of the honeysuckles sweet in the air, Becky ’s 
party set out for the Olivette, When the shaky 
pier was reached, Mrs. Hatton was too polite 
to hold back, and Mrs. Fairfield reassured her. 
Then the fascination of the wide river, swelling 
like waving velvet covered with silver spangles, 
began to steal over the strangers. 

Much to Becky’s joy, just before they reached 
the bad places in the pier the party came upon 
the little tram and, to her greater delight, Lewis 
Ahlswede was seated upon it. 

‘‘Of all things,” cried the happy girl, “here is 
our private train and engineer waiting for us.” 
She caught Lewis by the arm and made a quick 
and whispered inquiry as to whether he had exe- 
cuted her errands. 

“Yes,” answered the boy in a similar whisper. 
“I reckoned what was up, an’ I told Mrs. O’Con- 
nor.” As he wiped his perspiring brow with one 
hand he swung around against Becky a small 
covered tin pail. “I just been out to ol’ Mrs. 
Marshall’s, back in the pines, to git a pint o’ 
cream. ’ ’ 

Becky’s quick wits made her understand plainly. 


114 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

Mrs. O’Connor was prond of her coifee. The girl’s 
heart thnmped with new pleasure, and before she 
could restrain herself she had squeezed the will- 
ing reporter’s thick arm. Then she slipped the 
pail out of Lewis’ hand and concealed it behind 
her. 

‘‘Now we’re going to ride,” she explained with 
fervor to the Hattons and her aunt. “And Mr. 
Schuyler will help run the engine. ’ ’ 

To Euth the novel vehicle was a chariot of 
glory. The little girl’s activity was of service 
in drawing attention from Becky’s efforts to con- 
ceal the cream pail. Lucile divided her time 
between sighs over the sharp jars and in keeping 
as far as possible from Lewis’ bobbing head. 

‘ ‘ J ump on and kick, ’ ’ commanded Becky, noting 
this. “It will go fast enough.” 

Schuyler’s back being then toward her, the girl 
could more easily conceal her pail. Thus, more 
at ease, Becky began pointing out their novel sur- 
roundings. She called attention to the riding light 
of the Olivette, pointing to the fading lights on 
shore, and explained to Euth that the silvery 
explosions in the water now and then were not 
fireworks, but dashing schools of mullet fish. 

‘ ‘ It really is restful, isn ’t it, Lucile ? ’ ’ remarked 
Mrs. Hatton, anxious to arouse some interest in 
her indifferent daughter. 


115 


Mrs, 0^ Connor Serves Coffee 

‘‘But such a rickety old landing,’’ was Lucile’s 
only concession. 

“A touring car for you eve^y time,” grunted 
her brother. “ It ’s all you say, mother, ’ ’ he went 
on, ‘ ‘ and then some. ’ ’ 

“The old boat is somewhat rickety, too, but it 
won’t jolt,” volunteered Becky. “Stand by to 
come about!” she added quickly as the swaying 
car rolled up toward the schooner. “Half speed 
there,” she commanded, with a laugh; “we’re 
cornin’ abeam!” Then, as Lewis jumped off and 
began to slow up the car, she called out excitedly : 
“Schooner ahoy!” 

“The Olivette o’ St. Augustine!” came a quick 
response out of the darkness, in the full voice 
of Mrs. O’Connor. Then the same voice added: 
“Captain Becky in command. Drop anchor an’ 
come aboard.” 

“Say,” exclaimed the excited Schuyler, as he 
got on his knees to look ahead, “that’s the stuff! 
Here we are, sis ! Get a move on. ’ ’ And without 
further delay the boy was off toward the dark 
shape lying by the pier. 

“Put this by the galley window, Lewis,” whis- 
pered Becky, as she slipped the cream pail into 
Lewis’ hand and then busied herself with her 
guests. A lantern flared and Captain O’Connor 
was seen at the gangplank. The captain had put 


116 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

his pipe aside and wore a coat, buttoned snugly. 
His wife, her hair smooth and shiny, a white 
collar and a bit of Irish lace at her throat, stood 
with dignity at the companionway. 

Crowded on the little deck astern, one introduc- 
tion did for all. The captain took off his cap and 
held it as if in the presence of royalty. Mrs. 
0 ’Connor made a courtesy, and motioned her hus- 
band to bring the lantern. 

‘^We’re plazed to have ye aboord,” she ex- 
claimed. ^ ^ Will ye go below % ’ ’ 

Becky felt that she was at a crisis. She helped 
each of her visitors to the steps and then climbed 
on the low roof of the cabin and tiptoed forAvard 
to the galley. Lewis was there with the cream. 
All was dark in the little cooking apartment, but 
the window was open. Becky knew every inch of 
the little room and, whispering to Lewis, she 
scrambled through the window and dropped to 
the floor. 

‘WYait,” she whispered to the boy, as she 
relieved him of the cream pail; ^^we’re goin’ to 
take a sail. I want you to tend the jib and fore- 
sail. Can you?” 

^^Huh!” was Lewis’ only answer, an amused 
grunt. 

^‘Well, then,” went on Becky, in an undertone, 
‘‘you get Captain O’Connor aside and tell him 


Mrs. O’Connor Serves Coffee 117 

I want to get under way while these folks are in 
the cabin. It’s a surprise.” 

‘‘Aye, aye,” answered the boy, with a grin. 
“There’s a good breeze.” 

Smoothing her dress, Becky slipped into the 
cabin just as her aunt missed her. Her nervous- 
ness disappeared at once. The appearance of the 
“living saloon” and, better yet, the faces of all 
the Hattons made her catch her breath for joy. 
There could be no mistake about the impression 
made on the visitors. 

Mrs. Hatton, her eyes yet sweeping the apart- 
ment, was seated in one of the new canvas easy- 
chairs. Lucile was standing at one side of the 
long room, her face buried in a bowl of honey- 
suckle blossoms that stood on a shelf, and Euth 
was at the table, already in possession of a fra- 
grant orange. Schuyler’s attention was fixed on 
the steel centerboard. 

The big kerosene lamp, with its yellow shade, 
sent a golden radiance throughout the room. At 
one end of the table was a group of white candle- 
sticks, glowing like candelabra. Near these, in 
a wide Seminole basket, were heaped the oranges 
Lewis had brought. On a shelf just above Becky’s 
couch lay a heap of fragrant orange leaves and 
blossoms. 


118 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

^‘Miss Beckwith/’ Mrs. Hatton exclaimed, ^‘are 
you responsible for this ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Gracious, no!” protested Becky. “It’s Mrs. 
O’Connor’s home. She ” 

“It’s the child’s own work, Mrs. Hatton, every 
scrap an’ idea ! ’Tis the likes o ’ these notions that 
makes us afther callin’ her ‘Captain.’ ” 

“Captain?” exclaimed Lucile, showing unex- 
pected interest. 

‘ ‘ Sure, miss ! ‘ Captain Becky, ’ an ’ a fine little 
boss she’s been for us these past few days.” 

“We all made the curtains,” interrupted Becky, 
moving to the side where the room for the guests 
was to he located; “white and yellow and green 
palm leaves, just like the white sand, the sunshine 
and the palmettos. There is the washroom and 
the green bathtub, and over here is the dressing 
table and looking glass. We close it this way.” 
She ran the curtains out on the wire holding them 
and the improvised room was enclosed with its 
sightly wall of cretonne. “We’re going to live 
and eat out here. Our kitchen is up forward. 
There’s a little deck in the stern where we can 
take our chairs in the day and, if it rains or a 
norther comes, we have 'two stoves to heat our 
living room.” 

“Eeally,” exclaimed Mrs. Hatton, “it’s all very 


119 


Mrs, 0^ Connor Serves Coffee 

clever.” She reached over and patted Becky’s 
hand. ‘‘Yon deserve a lot of credit, Miss — I mean 
Captain Becky ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Isn ’t it r ’ added Lucile graciously. “It’s just 
dandy. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Thank you, ’ ’ answered Becky, trembling with 
eagerness. ‘ ‘ There ’s another thing I like best of 
all, though. That’s Mrs. O’Connor’s cooking. I’m 
sorry we hadn’t time to prepare some refresh- 
ments for you. ’ ’ 

“My dear child,” broke in Mrs. Hatton, “you 
are really too good ! ’ ’ 

“Oh, Mrs. O’Connor,” exclaimed Becky, as if 
the thought had just occurred to her, “couldn’t 
you make some cotf ee !’ ’ 

“ ’Twill he a rale pleasure!” answered Mrs. 
O’Connor, with a smile. 

“Mrs. O’Connor,” exclaimed Mrs. Hatton, “I 
must protest ” 

“ ’Tis the captain’s orders,” interrupted Mrs. 
O’Connor. A moment later a light flared up in 
the galley. Schuyler, who had been a witness of 
the brief colloquy, sprang toward the companion- 
way. 

“What’s doing?” he exclaimed. “We’re mov- 
ing ! ’ ’ 

“Yes,” explained Becky, “we’re sailing.” 


120 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


^ ^ Sailing ! ^ ^ came a gasp from several. 

‘‘Yes/’ laughed Becky. “I want to see the river 
by moonlight. I’ve wanted all my life to take a 
moonlight sail, and this is my first chance. It’ll 
make the coffee taste better.” 


CHAPTER XII 
Becky’s plot thickens 

Under a head breeze, the Olivette, heeling 
slightly, was tacking np the river. With no 
sound except the ripple of water washing stern- 
ward, the sails stood out like sheets of metal. 

Can’t you go any faster I” exclaimed Becky 
to Captain O’Connor, in the joy of having the 
boat in motion at last. 

‘‘Cornin’ home, miss,” answered the skipper, 
“we’ll kick up a wake.” 

Becky whirled to assist her aunt and Mrs. Hat- 
ton to the deck, and Schuyler began the old song : 
“Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main.” No 
one knew the rest of it, but Becky joined in, and 
the group on the little deck was at once a babble 
of exclamations of delight. 

Chairs were brought, but as there was no rail 
Mrs. Hatton, Mrs. Fairfield and Lucile preferred 
to sit on the top step of the companionway, and 
Schuyler brought cushions. 

“Ready about!” shouted Captain O’Connor 
suddenly, as he loosened the mainsheet. 

121 


122 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘ ^ Eeady about ! ^ ’ repeated a familiar voice for- 
ward. 

‘‘Duck!’^ shouted Becky, catching Schuyler’s 
arm, and as she forced that young gentleman to 
his knees Captain Sam threw over the tiller. The 
Olivette straightened in the wind, hung for a 
moment and then the big main boom swung over 
with a crash. There was a creak of pulleys and a 
bang forward as the foresail followed. 

‘ ^ Haul in on your jib ! ” roared the captain, as 
he took a new turn of the mainsheets. Amid the 
snapping of sails and the wild flapping of the 
loose jib there was the sound of heavy feet on the 
cabin roof. 

‘‘All fast for’ard, sir!” 

It was Lewis. Every word went through Becky 
with a thrill. For the moment she even forgot her 
guests. 

‘ ‘ Isn ’t it great ? ’ ’ she exclaimed to Schuyler, as 
the two scrambled to their feet. 

‘ ‘ Great ? ’ ’ replied the boy. “You bet your life ! ’ ’ 

The black line of palmettos masking the shore 
had disappeared. Here and there a yellow point 
of light showed, but all about the schooner 
stretched a seeming sea of water. The track of 
the moon lay on it, but, even outside this silver 
road, the freshening breeze was beginning to 
break the soft swells into little whitecaps that 


Becky Plot Thickens 123 

dissolved in phosphorescent glows. Overhead 
each star seemed turned into a pot of gold. 

‘ ‘ How d ’you like it, mother 1 ’ continued Schuy- 
ler. ‘‘Poor, eh?” 

“It is certainly delightful,” Mrs. Hatton an- 
swered, and then, more guardedly, “There isn’t 
any danger, is there. Captain ? ’ ’ 

“Danger?” echoed Captain Sam. “ ’Bout as 
much as ridin’ on Carlson’s truck. Here, Miss 
Becky,” he went on, turning to Becky, “take the 
tiller while I’m afther fillin’ me pipe. Kape her 
on the p’int beyant.” 

As eagerly as she would have reached for pearls 
or gold, Becky grasped the tiller. Even in the 
night, one could almost see her flush of pride. 
Lucile, seated on the edge of the cabin deck, made 
a careful survey of the girl. Finally she whispered 
to her brother, who had sprung to a seat beside 
her: 

“How old is she?” 

“Well,” responded Schuyler, “I don’t know; 
but I ’ll bet she ain ’t a day older ’n you are. ’ ’ 

No one saw the slight sneer in Lucile ’s face, 
but her brother knew how she felt when she said : 

“She acts like a boy.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Schuyler answered. “I 
guess she’ll pass for a girl with most people.” 


124 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

^‘OH, I forgot!’’ exclaimed Becky suddenly. 
‘^Captain, I’ve got to see Mrs. O’Connor.” 

The captain took the tiller and Becky headed 
for the companionway. The boy straightened up 
as If to follow her. Lucile caught him by the arm 
and held him back. 

Just wait. You’ve been tagging after her all 
evening. You’ve not been invited.” 

Properly rebuked, Schuyler pounded the side of 
the cabin with his heels for a moment, and then 
jumped down to talk with Captain O’Connor. 

‘^Captain,” he began, ‘‘how far could you sail 
in this boat?” 

“Well, lad,” responded the skipper, “with a 
new set o’ sails an’ a good caulkin’ an’ scrapin’, 
allowin’ ye weren’t in a sweat for speed, I cal- 
c’late the Olivette could round the Horn in time.” 

“Phew!” whistled the boy. “But you don’t 
ever go to sea, do you?” 

‘ ‘ ’Bout twice a summer we make the Bahamas. ’ ’ 

“How long have you been a sailor?” 

“Well, man an’ boy,” answered the captain, 
after a long draw on his pipe, “it’ll be fifty-two 
year come next St. Patrick’s day since I signed 
out o’ Queenstown for the Spice Islands — galley 
boy.” 

“Did you ever see any pirates?” broke in 
Lucile. 


Becky Plot Thickens 


125 


replied the captain, removing his pipe 
as if in respect to the other sex, ‘'it'll be soundin' 
strange for me to say it, but, east or west — an' 
I've sailed in all trades — I've seen no pirates as 
the books has 'em pictered — with high boots an' 
turbans, big mustaches an' gold rings into their 
ears." 

“You haven't?" exclaimed Schuyler, as if part 
of his interest had suddenly cooled. 

“Not pirates as I reckon you-all mean. But," 
and the captain chuckled, “when it comes to plain, 
ordinary thieves on the water, I've seen a-plenty. 
I'll not be termin' a thief by no such great name 
as a pirate because he sneaks on you in a boat. ' ' 

“Then there aren't any pirates on the Indian 
Eiver," commented Lucile. 

“No pirates at all, miss. But you'll find plenty 
o ' thieves, both land and water. ' ' 

‘ ‘ On this river ? ' ' broke in Schuyler, as if a new 
hope had risen. 

‘ ‘ Smugglers ! ' ' answered Captain Sam. 

“What are smugglers?" demanded Lucile. 

“Hereabouts," replied the captain, “smugglers 
are all sorts. Sometimes they call theirselves fish- 
ermen. Sometimes they set up to be in the Ba- 
hama trade. But, more like, their ol' tubs are 
full o’ cigars an' rum an' hats or even sugar an' 
cotfee from the West Injies. When the gov'ment 


126 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


agents ain’t lookin’ they come a-sneakin’ in one 
o’ the ocean cuts an’ then anchor for ‘repairs.’ 
But what they’re there for is to git ashore what 
they ain’t goin’ to pay no duty on.” 

“They’re almost like pirates, aren’t they?” 
commented Schuyler, with growing satisfaction. 
“What do they look like? Long, low, rakish 
craft ? ’ ’ 

Captain O’Connor snorted. “Lad,” he an- 
swered, “you’re as had as Miss Becky. I told 
her ’bout the big schooner that’s been lyin’ in 
the Indian Eiver Inlet for two months. It’s a 
plain smuggler. But she’s possessed ’at it’s a 
pirate. An’ ye can’t hardly contain her, she’s so 
anxious to git down there an ’ see it. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Where ’s that ? ’ ’ exclaimed Schuyler, his inter- 
est in pirates now wholly restored. 

“The Inlet? Oh, that’s ’bout fifty mile down 
the river, otf Fort Pierce.” 

“Fort Pierce?” exclaimed Mrs. Hatton, who 
had also heard the captain’s talk. “Why, I’ve 
friends who go there. That can’t be a bad place. ’ ’ 

“Bad?” said the captain, instantly. “Not by 
no means. I ’ll not be slurrin ’ Fort Pierce. What 
I’m talkin’ about ain’t the doin’s o’ them livin’ 
there. ’Tis the gran ’ place in the way o ’ trees an ’ 
gardens, not to mention the slathers o’ oysters 
an ’ fish in the river near by. Oysters thirty cents 


Becky Plot Thickens 


127 


a bushel in the shell an^ pompano fish ye’ll not 
be buyin’ in the swellest ristrants in New Yark. 
I’m speakin’ o’ what comes an’ goes by night in 
the dark o’ the moon. If I’d half o’ the valey o’ 
the West Injy stuff ’at slips by that place unob- 
sarved, the Olivette^ d ’a’ been laid up this many a 
year. ’ ’ 

‘‘Then there’s no danger in going there?” asked 
Mrs. Hatton. 

“Danger?” laughed Captain Sam. “Belave 
me, ma’am, ye’ll never see hide nor hair o’ them 
smuggling gents if they’ve got the luck to set eyes 
on ye first. ’ ’ 

For some time the faint odor of fragrant coffee 
had been stealing deckward and just now Becky’s 
voice sounded. 

‘ ‘ Will you all come down ? Mrs. 0 ’Connor ’s cof- 
fee is ready. And, Captain, please call Lewis too, 
if you can spare him.” 

There was almost a scramble to get into the 
cabin. Cups and saucers for all were in place. 
There was also a clear glass pitcher of yellow 
cream. But the coffee had not yet appeared. In 
its place stood a white bowl of oranges prepared 
in West India style, Becky’s work (learned from 
Mrs. O’Connor) and the thing she had almost 
“forgotten.” 

Two dozen golden globes of juice lay in a fra- 


128 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

grant mass. From half a dozen protruded forks, 
ready handles inviting to a luscious feast. Each 
orange had been peeled so that not a vestige of 
white fiber remained — the style in which a West 
Indian partakes of three or four without soiling a 
finger. 

^^It’s only three swallows of nothing but juice,” 
explained Becky with a smile as she placed a fork 
in Mrs. Hatton’s hand, ‘‘and then you’re ready 
for another.” As she handed a fork to Lucile, 
she added: “And these oranges didn’t get ripe 
on their way north. They are ripened in the sun 
and they were picked to-day.” 

“It’s worth a trip to Florida to get this,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Hatton as her first mouthful melted 
away. “Did you ever taste an orange like this, 
Lucile ? ’ ’ 

“It’s all juice and — talk about sugar!” an- 
swered the girl without reserve. 

“It’s the real Indian Eiver orange,” explained 
Becky, taking advantage of the prevailing enthu- 
siasm. “What d’you suppose oranges like that 
cost down here? I can get a big cotfee bag full 
of them for a dollar ! ’ ’ 

“These!” 

“Mrs. O’Connor loves them,” answered Becky. 
“She has ’em all the time. But,” and she drew 


Becky Plot Thickens 129 

down her month, ^^we don’t seem to have ’em at 
the Coquina.” 

At this moment Mrs. O’Connor appeared with 
the long-awaited coffee. 

‘^And cream!” exclaimed Mrs. Hatton. Lucile 
even ran to the table, took up the pitcher and ex- 
amined its contents as if she could not believe her 
eyes. 

‘^You always have real cream, don’t you, Mrs. 
O’Connor!” asked Becky innocently. 

The cotfee maker, busy filling cups, looked up 
in some astonishment. Then her eyes caught 
Becky’s and she answered: 

‘ ‘ Yis, miss, we try to have it all the time. Most 
generally we can git it — when we want it.” 

^^Mrs. Marshall says she ” 

Lewis!” exclaimed Becky as that young man 
began to speak. ^‘Here, have another orange. 
You’re a good boy to help us to-night,” she went 
on in a loud voice as she pushed an orange into 
the reporter’s hand. ^‘Eat this!” Then in a 
whisper, ^‘Shut your mouth about Mrs. Mar- 
shall!” 

What Lewis meant to say about Mrs. Marshall, 
the cream seller, was not finished. Probably no 
one would have given him attention anyway, for 
the cotfee was now being served. Even Euth was 
allowed a few spoonfuls and Becky (who seldom 


130 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

drank the beverage) took a full cup rather than 
make a break in the general endorsement. 

Under the influence of the oranges and cotfee, 
to say nothing of the sugar cakes Mrs. O’Connor 
had hurriedly prepared, the little party became 
hilarious. Schuyler began to sing and even Lucile 
admitted she wished there were a piano aboard. 

In the midst of the gayety Captain Sam, having 
had his coffee while Lewis and Schuyler relieved 
him at the tiller, headed the schooner shoreward. 

‘‘I’m awfully sorry,” exclaimed Mrs. Hatton, 
“for it has been most enjoyable. I don’t know 
how we can return your kindness. May I call in 
the morning, Mrs. O’Connor?” 

“ ’Twill be a great honor, ma’am.” 

“Say, mother!” shouted Schuyler, springing 
down the steps at this moment, followed more 
sedately by Becky. “What d’you think? Miss 
Becky says I ain’t goin’ to sleep in the boardin’- 
house to-night. Look!” 

Becky slipped to the stateroom curtain and 
drew it back. In the curtained apartment stood 
one of the cots, made up as fresh and white as any 
bed in Mrs. Hatton’s home. 

“There’s no reason why he should,” explained 
Becky. “There’s oceans of room here. And for 
breakfast, Mrs. O’Connor ’ll give him more 
oranges and cotfee and real cream.” 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE STEATAGEM OF THE LOST LETTEES 

The reasonableness of Becky’s suggestion over- 
whelmed Mrs. Hatton’s protests and Schuyler 
was at last assigned to the hastily prepared apart- 
ment. The joy of the boy was almost boundless. 

Lewis will bring your bag down,” suggested 
Becky, ^‘and you won’t have to come back alone 
in the dark.” 

Schuyler’s look of indignation was lost on 
Becky, who was already assisting Mrs. O’Connor 
with the dishes, while the others were getting on 
coats and arousing Ruth. 

‘‘Well, dearie,” whispered Mrs. O’Connor on 
one of her trips to the galley with Becky, “ye 
haven’t said as much, but I’m thinkin’ these 
folks ’ll be goin ’ on your cruise. ’ ’ 

Becky’s courage almost left her. With a stifled 
sob she rested her whirling little head for a mo- 
ment on Mrs. O’Connor’s breast. Then she 
straightened herself with new determination and 
brushed away her tears. 

“No, Mrs. Nora,” she answered at last. 

131 


132 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘^They’re not going. Miss Lucile don’t like us. 
They’re goin’ away in the mornin’.” 

‘ ^ Goin ’ away, child ! ’ ’ exclaimed Mrs. 0 ’Connor 
so loudly that Becky had to press a hand on her 
mouth. ^^Thin why’ll ye be afther makin’ such a 
fuss over ’em*?” 

‘ ‘ I couldn ’t help it. I just couldn ’t help showin ’ 
them what they’re going to miss. I’ll pay you for 
all your trouble and for Mr. Schuyler’s sleeping 
here to-night. Give him the best breakfast you 
can.” 

‘‘Ye’ll pay me!” snorted Mrs. O’Connor, in 
spite of Becky’s renewed warning signs. “It’ll 
be naught but one o ’ your own swate kisses that ’ll 
settle that account. And, dearie, mind ; don ’t give 
up ; good luck often comes by the back door. ’ ’ 

“It was a close shave, anyway,” whispered 
Becky, another tear starting despite the girl’s 
brave attempt at a smile. “I’m going to start in 
again to-morrow. I’ll send a new advertisement 
to St. Augustine by Mrs. Hatton herself.” 

“You’re a plucky girl, Becky,” Mrs. O’Connor 
hastened to say as she gave her young friend a 
quick hug. “Now run along home. Get a good 
night’s slape an’ I’ll ’tend to the lad.’^ 

There was less gayety on the little tram car as 
Schuyler and Lewis hurried it shoreward. Lucile 


133 


Stratagem of the Lost Letters 

was not talkative. At the shore, all fell into file 
and hurried toward the hotel. 

‘‘Lewis,’’ exclaimed Becky, pausing a moment, 
“it was fine of you to get all those things. Good 
night,” she added and then hurried toward the 
hotel. There were more expressions of gratitude, 
formal “good nights” and then the Hattons dis- 
appeared. Mrs. Fairfield and Becky followed in 
a few minutes. They heard Schuyler hurry down 
the hall on his return to the Olivette, It was too 
much for the overwrought girl. Becky burst into 
tears and threw herself on the bed, shaking with 
sobs. 

Mrs. Fairfield knew what it meant and, for a 
time, she made no attempt to soothe the child. 
Finally, when the sobs grew less, she said : 

‘ ‘ Don ’t worry, Becky. We all make mistakes. ’ ’ 

“Mistake?” repeated the girl. “It isn’t my 
mistake. They made the mistake. And I don’t 
care, now.” She sprang up and sat on the edge 
of the bed. “It’s all that Lucile. She ” 

A knock on the door interrupted Becky. While 
she sat with her face in her hands and the tears 
moistening her fingers her aunt hastened to the 
door. 

“I hope you’ll excuse this late visit,” Mrs. Hat- 
ton began, as she entered the room, ‘ ‘ but I thought 
I ought not wait till morning. I ’m so excited over 


134 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


the Olivette and Miss Becky that I want to ask 
her to take ns on her cruise.’’ Becky began to 
tremble. may have been a little rude this 
evening, Miss Becky,” continued Mrs. Hatton, 
‘^but I was tired and everything seemed wrong. 
You put everything right so easily that we don’t 
want to leave you. Will you take us with you?” 

‘Hf you’re sure ” began Becky. 

‘‘I’ll be greatly disappointed if you don’t,” an- 
swered Mrs. Hatton. 

“And Miss Lucile?” asked Becky doubtfully. 

‘ ‘ She ’s quite willing to go. ’ ’ 

“And you really want to?” 

“We must go!” 

“But we haven’t talked about how much I’ll 
have to charge you,” put in Becky with some 
alarm. 

“Don’t bother about that,” rejoined Mrs. Hat- 
ton. ‘ ‘ Only be sure you charge enough. I ’m only 
worrying about when we can start.” 

“To-morrow?” ventured Becky with suddenly 
returning excitement. 

“The day after, I suggest,” put in Mrs. Fair- 
field. 

“The day after, then, or when you are ready,” 
said Mrs. Hatton. 

“I hope Lucile will like it as well as I know I’m 
goin ’ to, and — and I thank you, ’ ’ answered Becky. 


135 


Stratagem of the Lost Letters 

‘‘I thank you, and very much,” protested Mrs. 
Hatton as she said good night. 

The full range of Becky’s thoughts before she 
went to sleep would require pages to set forth. 
But now that she had triumphed, one thing arose 
to newly disturb her. Five days before, she had 
written to her father on the matter of her big 
project. As yet, she had received no reply. What 
if a letter came the next day putting an end to 
her plans ? 

Becky was awake early and she ran at once to 
have a look at the river to make sure her precious 
schooner was still safe at her moorings. The girl 
knew it was to he a busy day and she began it 
by laying out fresh clothes. When Mrs. Fairfield 
awoke, Becky, her thin face alive with eagerness 
and her temples colored with joy, was on her 
knees in her bathrobe sorting wearing apparel. 

‘ H ’m only going to take my suit case, ’ ’ she cried 
with animation. 

‘‘Your suit case?” repeated Mrs. Fairfield. “I 
thought you were planning to be gone two or three 
weeks ? ’ ’ 

“Weeks?” exclaimed the girl, whirling her 
slender hands about in the lightness of her heart. 
“Months, if they’ll stay!” 

“Well, you can’t live in a suit case a month.” 

“You don’t understand,” protested Becky. 


136 Captain Becky’s Winter Cruise 

We’re going to wash onr things. That’s the way 
they do at sea — Mrs. 0 ’Connor told me — and hang 
’em on the ropes — I mean the sheets and booms. ’ ’ 

‘‘Oh, she did!” remarked Mrs. Fairfield, pre- 
paring to rise. “Well, on this ship you’ll carry 
your trunk and some decent clothes. And when 
you come to a good stopping place you’ll go 
ashore and employ a laundress.” 

my things?” Becky asked. It’ll crowd 
things on the boat.” 

“Boats are always crowded,” was her aunt’s 
only comment. 

At that particular moment it came to Becky 
that Mrs. O’Connor was in ignorance of the im- 
portant news. She sprang to her feet and began 
to dress feverishly. 

“Is there a fire somewhere?” asked her aunt 
with a smile. 

“Fire! Where?” exclaimed the busy Becky, 
stumbling toward the window and tripping over 
a half-drawn-on stocking. “ ’Tisn’t the schooner, 
aunty ! ’ ’ 

Eeassured, Becky, with a relieved laugh, hopped 
over to her aunt and gave her a morning kiss. 
“I’m just in a big hurry,” she explained, “be- 
cause I’ve got to go and tell Mrs. O’Connor and 
Mr. Schuyler. He’ll be glad to know,” she added. 

“Becky,” exclaimed her aunt soberly, “I don’t 


Stratagem of the Lost Letters 137 

like to speak of this, but you know you haven’t 
heard from your father yet.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, aunty ! Wouldn ’t it be awful ? ’ ’ 

Mrs. Fairfield had almost reached the point 
where she hoped the letter would not come. 
Becky, as if to escape every thought of the hor- 
rible contingency, ran from the room. As she 
reached the front gallery she heard the hotel pro- 
prietor calling her. His face wore a broad grin. 

missed you last night,” he explained to her 
across the office. ^H’ve got something for you 
and your aunt. I guess you must ’a ’ been excited. 
Ain’t these yours?” 

He held out two dusty letters, both addressed 
to Mr. Beckwith in Chicago. In her excitement 
Becky did not notice this. 

^‘When did they come?” she asked, her cold 
fingers gripping the two envelopes. 

‘ ^ Come ? ’ ’ repeated the proprietor. ‘ ‘ Why, they 
ain’t never come; they ain’t never went!” 

‘‘Never been mailed?” Becky exclaimed. 

“I found ’em last night,” laughed the man, 
“stuffed into that box bangin’ to catch nickels for 
the Turkey Crick Colored M. E. Sunday School. I 
reckon that’s one on you, Miss Becky.” 

The girl stared at him. 

“Didn’t they never go at all?” 

“If you mean to Chicago, you got the proof 


138 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

they didn’t/’ and the proprietor cackled over his 
joke. Still* trembling and without a thought, 
Becky walked out on the gallery. For several 
minutes she sat shifting the unmailed but stamped 
letters and alternately looking out over the river. 
At last, her face very white, she arose and hurried 
into the office. 

guess that’s a pretty good joke on me,” she 
said to the proprietor. ‘‘I wouldn’t want Mrs. 
Fairfield to know about it.” 

‘ ‘ She ’d give you the laugh, eh ? ” 

Becky hesitated. ‘‘Anyway, I wouldn’t like her 
to know about it.” 

“I understand,” replied the man. Then he 
winked knowingly. “Leave it to me.” 

“You won’t speak of it! Not to anyone!” 

The proprietor pursed his lips and shook his 
head. 

“You go to the post office every morning, don’t 
you ! ’ ’ 

“If you want to mail ’em, just put ’em on 
the counter. I’ll take ’em over.” 

“No,” answered Becky, hesitating again, 
“some one might see them. Won’t you put them 
in your pocket and drop them in the office your- 
self!” 

“Maybe that’s better.” 

As the man held out his hand, Becky’s face 


139 


Stratagem of the Lost Letters 

turned from white to red; she gripped the two 
letters and then, almost desperately, thrust them 
into the proprietor ’s hand and ran from the room. 

She’s certainly a touchy young lady,” mused 
the man. ‘^But, like as not, she’s got her rea- 
sons.” 

Although she knew she had done wrong, Becky 
had weighed all the advantages to he derived from 
her decision. She had seen health returning and 
the financial gain that meant so much. She had 
put these against the possibility of her parents’ 
thoughtless refusal, had counted all the costs, and 
then plunged openly into her duplicity. Before an 
answer could now come she would be beyond the 
reach of the mails. 

She stayed on the Olivette for breakfast and to 
discuss a world of details with the O’Connors. 
They would sail not later than the next morning. 
As the guests of the Coquina heard the news, 
everyone seemed to join in the activity. By noon 
the many things proffered Becky — tins of biscuits, 
boxes of chocolate, fruit, sofa pillows, hammocks, 
fishing material, even tennis shoes and outing 
hats, made a section of the gallery look like a 
fancy goods store. And, in a corner of Mr. Carl- 
son’s store, Mrs. Hatton’s purchases seemed lim- 
ited only by the proprietor’s stock. 


140 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

The only shadow on the pleasure of these prepa- 
rations came when Captain Sam sought out Becky. 

“I’m sorry, indade, Miss Becky, to be tellin’ ye 
our nigger ain’t to be found.” 

He had found the girl in the little book store,, 
where she had been making a most extravagant 
purchase of low-priced fiction and magazines. As 
she showed her consternation, he hastened to add : 

“But he’s down Saint Sebastian way, I reckon. 
We’ll prob’ly make that by to-morrow night. So 
I’ve sent him a message an’ we’ll pick him up 
there. I’ll run the schooner myself till we get 
there — you an’ me.” 


CHAPTER XIV 

LEWIS DOES SOME FIGURING 

Shortly before noon Lewis Ahlswede went to 
the hotel to see Becky. He knew nothing of the 
turn atfairs had taken. In addition to his ordi- 
nary duties his working hours had been marked 
with an important event. But the result of this 
was not yet apparent. He reached the hotel with 
his advertising form book, ready to cooperate in 
the writing of a new advertisement. Everything 
had turned out so beautifully that Becky had not 
thought to send word of her good luck to the boy. 
But, when she saw him coming up the path, she 
hurried to meet him. 

reckon I got in bad this morning’’ Lewis 
began. guess I oughtn’t have done it, but I 
top Mr. Owens he hadn’t give you a square deal 
when he swelled that bill.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, Lewis, ’ ’ protested Becky. ‘ ‘ I told you not 
to do that. It wasn ’t your fault. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well, I got it out o’ my system anyway,” said 
the boy with a half smile. 

“What did he say I” returned Becky anxiously. 

141 


142 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

much, ’cept he was sore an’ said I’d never 
be a newspaper man.” 

‘^Well, you just will!” asserted Becky. ‘^And 
I’ll bet you have a bigger paper than he has.” 

But the boy was shaking his head. “ I ’m a bum 
reporter,” he said at last. You’d ought to seen 
me tryin’ to interview Mrs. Hatton an’ that kid 
last night. But how about the ad?” 

‘‘They’re going,” exclaimed Becky. “Didn’t 
you hear?” 

“Goin’?” shouted the boy and then checked 
himself as the girl raised a warning finger. 
‘ ‘ W ell, say, ain ’t that great ? The whole outfit ? ’ ’ 

Becky related what had taken place. The boy’s 
face was all smiles. Then, ignoring Becky’s many 
details, he grew sober. 

“She told -you to fix your own price? Well, 
what are you goin’ to charge ’em?” 

“About fifteen dollars a week each, I thought,’' 
ventured Becky. 

“Like smoke!” ejaculated Lewis. “Why, the 
folks here pay that an’ more, some o’ ’em. Say, 
01’ Cap Wilde used to run a steam launch out o’ 
Eockledge that just had room on her for four to 
barely eat an’ sleep. Ever’ season he had New 
York swells down here fishin’ an’ duck shootin’ 
for weeks at a time. ’ ’ 

“What did he charge?” asked Becky, eagerly. 


143 


Lewis Does Some Figuring 

Nothin’ but just five dollars a day, that’s all 
— five dollars a head, too,” he added conclusively. 

‘‘That would be six hundred dollars a month,” 
laughed Becky. “I couldn’t think of that. 
Imagine all of them crowded up together and 
such common things around.” 

“Ain’t that what they’re lookin’ for!” argued 
the boy. 

Becky stared at him for a moment and then 
began checking on her fingers. 

“One hundred dollars a month for the boat,” 
she repeated half aloud. “We think our groceries 
and things ’ll cost twenty-five dollars a week; 
that’s two hundred dollars. And what we’ve 
bought comes to sixty-six dollars, though I won’t 
count but about half that, say thirty-three, and 
that ’s two hundred and thirty-three dollars. Then 
I’ve got to count in my own board an’ lodging 
>> 

‘ ‘ Count in nothin ’ ! ” protested Lewis. ‘ ‘ You ’re 
the boss an’ captain. You got to make a profit. 
You ain’t got no right to charge less ’an one hun- 
dred per cent on your investment. If you ain’t 
foolish you’ll make it twice two hundred and 
thirty-three dollars, an’ that’ll be dirt cheap. 
Don’t forget that! I’ve read books on ‘Merchan- 
disin’ an’ Profit.’ That’s a low profit, considerin’ 
the risk you’re takin’.” 


144 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

couldn’t think of it,” and Becky’s eyes 
opened wide. 

‘‘You’d better think of it,” went on the aroused 
reporter, stoutly. Then he pursed his lips as if 
making a struggle with himself. “O’ course, ’ ’ he 
continued, “considerin’ it’s a kind o’ family party 
an’ partly for your own pleasure, you might take 
a little off, but if you an’ Captain O’Connor an’ 
Nora haul them folks all up an’ down the Indian 
Eiver for a cent less’n one hundred and twenty- 
five dollars a week, you all ought to go hungry 
for your meals.” 

An hour later, Mrs. Hatton and Becky being on 
perhaps the twentieth trip to Carlson’s store, the 
former said; 

“I can see you have been to considerable ex- 
pense, Miss Becky, in all these preparations. 
Would you like to have some money in advance?” 

“Oh, thank you, no!” exclaimed Becky. 
“Everything is arranged.” She hesitated and 
then swallowed hard. “I want to tell you what 
I’ll have to charge you, Mrs. Hatton; that is, I 
mean, what I’ll have to ask you to pay me; I 
didn’t mean to ask so much; it’s a lot.” 

“I told you to fix your own rate,” smiled Mrs. 
Hatton. 

“I’ve figured it out, and I think I’ll have to 


Lewis Does Some Figuring 


145 


ask you to pay me a hundred and twenty-five 
dollars a week.^’ 

Becky gripped her fingers. She felt as if she 
had wrecked her entire enterprise. She was even 
shocked when she heard no explosive protest. 

‘‘Let me see,’’ was all Mrs. Hatton returned, 
in an undisturbed, pleasant tone. ‘ ‘ That is about 
eighteen dollars a day — less than five dollars for 
each of us. We are paying ten dollars a day to 
sit on the veranda at the Ponce. If you think 
that is enough, it is wholly satisfactory to me.” 

In the store Becky was so agitated that the 
storekeeper noticed it. When Mrs. Hatton had 
gone Becky could no longer restrain herself. She 
told Mr. Carlson about her talk with Lewis, about 
what she had planned to charge and her final con- 
tract with Mrs. Hatton. The storekeeper slapped 
his knee. 

“You couldn’t ’a’ told me nothin’ I’m gladder 
to hear ’an that,” he declared. “I always been 
predictin’ that boy’s got sense an’ this proves it. 
That boy’s a-goin’ to make his mark an’ don’t 
you forget it.” 

“I know he is,” put in Becky soberly, “and I’m 
goin’ to help him if I can.” 

“In that case,” returned Mr. Carlson, “I’ll tell 
you one way you can help him. ’ ’ 

“How?” asked Becky, eagerly. 


146 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

“Well, you was goin’ to make these folks a rate 
of sixty dollars a week, an^ because o’ Lewis 
you’re goin’ to get a hundred an’ twenty-five.” 

“Yes.” 

“He made you just sixty-five dollars a week, 
which is a lot in this part o’ the world.” 

“Oh, I see!” exclaimed Becky, her temples 
flaming. “I ought to give him a present I Is that 
what you mean?” 

Mr. Carlson nodded his head. “If your cruise 
lasts a month, he’s made over two hundred and 
fifty dollars for you clean as a whistle. He don’t 
make that much for himself in six months. ’ ’ 

Becky grew more embarrassed. “What do you 
suppose he’d like?” 

“ ’Tain’t a question o’ what he likes,” smiled 
the man. “I reckon he’d like some new f angled 
cyclopedy about ‘Lives o’ Great Journalists.’ 
What he ’d ought to have is a good suit o ’ clothes. ’ ’ 

“And a pair of new shoes,” added Becky, ex- 
uberantly, “and a new hat and — and everything 
to make him look right. ’ ’ 

“Now you’re talkin’,” broke in Mr. Carlson. 
“An’ if you say so. I’ll see that he gets all of ’em. 
Is that a go?” 

“Of course,” urged the delighted girl. “Even 
if it costs a hundred dollars. Only,” and her 
smile fled, “I haven’t a hundred dollars, not now.” 


147 


Lewis Does Some Figuring 

‘‘It won’t be that much,” explained the other. 
“Not over twenty-five. You can pay me when you 
come back. You’re gettin’ in purty deep, but 
that ’s my lookout. My motto in business is, ‘ Take 
a chance when you know you ain’t takin’ none.’ ” 

“You’re just the grandest man!” exclaimed the 
girl. “And you’ve been so good to me ” 

‘ ‘ Well, why wouldn ’t I ? You ’re a big customer ; 
I got to treat my customers right. An’ I can tend 
to Lewis better ’n you could. ’ ’ 

That evening the restless girl utilized the last 
hours before sailing in showing her passengers 
maps covering the course of the proposed outing. 
These she had borrowed from Mr. Carlson. They 
were coast charts, each one covering a section of 
the long river. 

“Who’s goin’ to be navigatin’ officer?” asked 
Schuyler at one time. 

“Captain O’Connor, of course,” replied Becky. 

“Will he keep the log?” went on the boy, ready 
to show off his nautical knowledge. 

“What’s that?” asked the girl. 

“That’s the record of what takes place aboard 
each day, like when you see whales and icebergs, 
how many miles you travel and all about the 
winds and whether they’re ‘nor ’nor ’west’ or ‘east 
by nor ’east,’ and things like that.” 

“You be it,” ordered Becky. 


148 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

whatr’ 

‘^The log/’ 

‘‘I’ll be the ‘log’ all right,” laughed the boy, 
“but you can bet I won’t be a ‘stick’ on the 
Olivette.” 

Becky had become so used to Lewis’ help that 
she rather counted on him to assist in transport- 
ing the baggage. When he did not appear the 
next morning, she recalled that the boy was em- 
ployed and no doubt busy. Schuyler, the Coquina 
porter and the obliging Mr. Carlson finally got 
everything out to the Olivette by nine o’clock. 
Becky thought of going to the Times office to see 
Lewis and tell him good-bye, but suddenly, every- 
thing appearing to be ready to start, she compro- 
mised by leaving a message with Mr. Carlson for 
the boy. 

The little tram car had made its last trip with 
crates and parcels. These had been stacked on 
the fore and aft decks, to be stowed away later. 
Mrs. Hatton and her daughters were aboard and 
sitting anxiously on camp stools astern, their arms 
laden with wraps, coats and parasols. Schuyler, 
coatless and in new tennis shoes, was hurrying 
from pier to boat and pattering back and forth on 
the cabin roof as if every important duty was his. 

There was no carelessness about Becky’s cos- 
tume that day. Over a week in the sun had given 


Lewis Does Some Figuring 149 

her narrow face a healthy tan. The serge suit 
she wore had been freshly pressed. The wide, 
open collar had been discarded and a black tie, 
knotted in sailor style, held the blue waist snugly 
about her slender neck. She wore new, wide tan 
shoes purchased from Mr. Carlson. On her head 
Becky wore a natty, blue yachting cap, flat and 
bordered with a silk band. Nearly a dozen guests 
from the hotel were grouped on the pier, including 
Mrs. Fairfield. Two of them were adjusting 
cameras. 

^^You and the captain stand together,^’ asked 
one of the photographers, addressing Becky. 
^‘And raise your cap a little.” The wearing of 
the cap itself had been some strain on Becky’s 
modesty, but posing in it brought on positive con- 
fusion. Just then she saw a smile on Lucile’s 
face and, forgetting her modesty, she not only 
posed in several attitudes, but at last sprang 
aboard and took a position at the tiller. 

That’s the stuff,” cried Schuyler. 

Aunty,” called Becky to Mrs. Fairfield, ^^get 
a picture and mail it to father. ’ ’ 

Captain O ’Connor was forward, having cast off 
the schooner’s lines and thrown the gangplank 
on the dock. He was hauling away on the foresail 
halyards and the schooner was already drifting 
away. As the foresail peak straightened aloft. 


150 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

the old skipper made fast the halyards and caught 
the sheets. The first heave on the boom gave life 
to the schooner. Then, as the sail came in, the 
apparently unwieldy boat keeled over and gave a 
lunge forward. 

‘‘Port your helm,^^ grunted the captain to 
Becky. 

The girl guessed right. As she threw her lithe, 
blue-clad form against the tiller the Olivette 
lunged again, the ripple of the cutwater sounded 
against the bow”, and Captain Becky cruise had 
begun. 


CHAPTEE XV 

A SAIL. AT LAST 

The morning was mild and sunny, with a south- 
west breeze. Out on the wide river Captain 
O ’Connor laid the course of the Olivette until the 
government channel was reached, the dredge- 
deepened channel whose course could only be fol- 
lowed by beacons planted every few miles. In 
this narrow path the old schooner drifted forward, 
now and then stealing beyond the canal banks, 
where the water permitted, on a longer and faster 
tack. As if on a lake, the distant shores of the 
river rose vaguely in a wall of green. 

While all but Captain O’Connor were busy be- 
low, the schooner passed several villages. Schuy- 
ler joined the skipper just as Captain O’Connor 
pointed out a wooded point with a white landing 
reaching into an adjoining bay. 

That’s the first stop,” the skipper explained 
to the boy. ‘‘When I come alongside the landin’, 
go for’ard to cast off the foresail halyard, d’y’ 
understand? We’re goin’ to fill our water barrel 
at Malabar.” 


151 


152 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

^ ^ I ’m expecting to help, right along, ’ ’ announced 
Schuyler, enthusiastically. 

^^An’ I’m expectin’ it, till we run across Jim,” 
replied Captain O’Connor. 

By the time Schuyler had assisted Captain 
O’Connor in making fast at the Malabar dock, 
Lucile and Becky had made a whirlwind rush to 
the deck. With a long garden hose Captain 
O’Connor prepared to fill the washroom and 
kitchen water barrels. Led by Becky, Lucile and 
Schuyler hurried ashore. 

Becky’s real commission was to make inquiries 
concerning Jupiter Jim. It required only a few 
moments to ascertain that the colored boatman 
had not been seen for several weeks. Then the 
youngsters, soon joined by Mrs. Hatton and Ruth, 
fell to buying and mailing postcards. 

Mrs. Hatton seemed to revel in slowly examin- 
ing the town’s only shop. From picking over 
ancient picture postals, she tried to interest the 
younger persons in many of the other articles for 
sale — sunbonnets, straw hats, additional provi- 
sions in jars and tins, and confections no longer 
fresh. She finally bought some cocoanuts, a new 
supply of oranges and a box of cigars for Captain 
O’Connor. 

Becky mailed three postal cards; one to her 
mother, another to her aunt and a third to Lewis 


A Sail at Last 


153 


Ahlswede. For the latter she selected a picture 
of tall and green trees labeled ‘‘Palms on the 
Indian River, ’ ^ and wrote on it : 

‘ ‘ Deae Lewis : 

‘ ‘ Sorry I didn ^t get to tell you good-bye. Took 
water and went ashore at this place. Expect to 
visit the Lodge you told us about this afternoon. 
Will be in St. Sebastian to-morrow. Am going to 
call on your mother. Left a message for you with 
Mr. Carlson. Your friend, 

“Maejokie Beckwith.” 

Meanwhile Captain O’Connor visited the vil- 
lage and confirmed Becky’s news about Jupiter 
Jim. 

“It’ll be all right long as we’ve no wind,” he 
explained to the girl in an aside. “ If we do, we ’ll 
have to tie up and wait. The Olivette ain’t no 
one-man boat.” 

“How about me?” demanded Becky. “And 
Mr. Hatton?” 

“Meanin’ no offense,” replied the skipper, “I’d 
rather have Jupiter Jim.” 

“Couldn’t we get along in a pinch?” asked the 
girl. “That is, unless it gets stormy. And it 
don’t look as if it was ever stormy here.” 

“Looks are deceivin’, sometimes,” grunted 


154 Captain Becky *s Winter Cruise 

Captain Sam. ‘‘ICs mighty seldom we can’t 
scare up a norther for a few hours. As for gettin’ 
along in a ^ pinch,’ we can always get along with 
a fair wind. If it happens to come head on down 
there in the Narrows the only way to get ahead 
is by tackin’ — and purty sharp 'work at that. If 
Jim don’t show up at Sebastian we’ll tie up till 
we get some one.” 

‘‘What do you mean by a ‘norther’?” asked 
Becky. 

“A norther don’t need to he no storm,” ex- 
plained the captain. “It’s when the warm wind 
goes ’round to the north and brings a touch o’ 
Chicago blizzard. Then you feel like puttin’ on a 
coat an’ gettin’ indoors. That’s all, exceptin’ 
when it’s a little strong, there’s sometimes a 
run o’ sea an’ the whitecaps are apt to come 
a-splashin’ aboard. An’,” he added in a lower 
voice, “the wind’s been movin’ round that way 
all mornin’. We may get a touch o’ weather 
to-night. ’ ’ 

“Do you think we’d better wait here!” asked 
Becky. 

“Wait!” returned the Captain. “O’ course 
not. Don’t you he afraid o’ nothin’. If you’ve 
planned to go ashore at Oak Lodge we’ll make sail 
right away. If it turns cool, all you got to do is 
shut the windows an’, if it comes to the worst, 


A Sail at Last 155 

light your oil stoves. You ^11 be as snug in there 
as a bug in a rug. ^ ’ 

‘‘You’re sure there isn’t any danger?” 

The skipper smiled and pointed to the schooner, 
now bumping softly against the pier. “You folks 
pile in there an ’ get your dinner while I get under 
sail. If the breeze freshens I’ll put ye into St. 
Sebastian to-night. ’ ’ 

The low-lying schooner began to push herself 
through the water while Captain Becky and her 
guests sat down to Mrs. O’Connor’s dinner. The 
moment Mrs. 0 ’Connor appeared with a big plate 
heaped with oysters baked on the shell, the look 
on the face of each diner was quick assurance that 
this first meal was to be a success. 

Becky served the oysters, the contents of each 
big shell browned and steaming with fragrance. 
Mrs. Hatton insisted at once that she must have 
the recipe. Like the cook she was, Mrs. 0 ’Connor 
insisted that she used anything that came handy 
for seasoning, and her other directions were fully 
as vague. 

Following the oysters came salt-water red 
snapper — evidently Mrs. O’Connor’s pride, for 
she carved it herself. The proud cook laid the 
fish on the table in the pan in which it had been 
baked, the savory brown fish, surrounded with the 
tomatoes, herbs and sauce of its Creole dressing. 


156 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


With this came mashed potatoes and new green 
beans boiled with bacon. The reception of this 
course was not less enthusiastic. Then came a let- 
tuce salad, after which Becky assisted Mrs. 0 ^Con- 
nor in arranging the table for the sweets and 
cotfee. 

While this was being done all the Hattons went 
on deck to get a sight of the new river picture. 
Captain O’Connor, his pipe supplanted by one of 
Mrs. Hatton’s cigars, pointed out new views, and, 
far ahead, a patch of green in the center of the 
river. 

‘‘Grant’s Farm,” he explained. “We’ll reach 
it about three o ’clock. ’ ’ 

“A farm in the middle of the river!” exclaimed 
Schuyler. 

“They call it a farm because it ain’t one and 
never could be,” explained the skipper. “It’s 
nothin’ but a marsh. That’s where we’ll anchor 
while you-all go ashore an’ do your visitin’.” 

“Isn’t it getting cooler!” asked Mrs. Hatton. 

“It is, ma’am; the breeze is bearin’ a little to 
the north ’ard.” 

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Lucile. “It’s been so 
sunny and summery.” 

“Well, miss,” went on the skipper, “we got 
considerable climate down here, an’, in the main, 
it’s gilt-edged ’long about this time o’ year. But 


A Sail at Last 


157 


we can^t guarantee sunshine al’ays ; we on Y guar- 
antee ye won’t have no fros’ bite. An’ if we got 
any bad weather ahead we ought to be glad to 
have it now an’ get it off the program.” 

‘^Cotfee’s ready,” called Becky, and there was 
a new stampede. Becky’s contribution to the last 
course was pineapple a la Melbourne. This was 
the sensation of the meal. 

When her guests reached the table, at each 
plate sat a dish that saturated the cabin with 
a pungent, sugary odor. Three large pineapples 
had been quartered, leaving the rind and a sec- 
tion of the waxen leaves attached to each part. 
Then a sharp knife had separated the golden, 
juicy fruit from the rind, the spicy meat being 
replaced on the rind. Following this the knife 
had been drawn through the fruit lengthwise, 
making two long pieces. The knife had then been 
drawn across the strips, separating all into little 
■ cakes of syrupy sweetness. This done, all the 
pieces were arranged in their original positions. 

‘‘That’s something new, mother,” exclaimed 
Schuyler. “You take it like a slice of water- 
melon.” 

Before Becky could stop him, the hungry boy 
caught up his section of fruit and lifted it to 
his mouth. Instantly, the carefully cut bits began 
to roll onto the table in a rain of fragrant cubes. 


158 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘‘Look!’^ explained Becky, as Schuyler hastily 
returned the pine to the table. Then, taking a 
fork, she lifted a bit of the fruit to her mouth. 
‘‘It keeps in all the juice. Up north we could 
have a little plate of sugar to dip each piece in. 
But this,^’ and she closed her eyes in unctuous 
pleasure, “don’t need sugar.” 

Then came the coffee, after which Becky, soon 
joined by Schuyler, hurried on deck and took the 
tiller, while Captain O’Connor and his wife ate 
their own dinner in the galley. 

“It’s coolin’ up a bit,” he stated, “and we may 
have a little sniff o’ breeze this evenin’ — ^mebbe 
rain. ’ ’ 

But these indications were not such that Becky 
and Schuyler were alarmed. Alone for almost 
the first time, the two young people dropped all 
restraint and discussed the river, the boat, the 
many joys awaiting them, talking as rapturously 
as children. And, finally, Becky, sitting cross- 
legged on the deck near the boy, who now held 
the tiller with no little pride, told the story of 
the great river as it had been related to her. 

It was glorious, her dream at last realized, to 
breathe in the balmy air, watch great herons 
drifting across the blue sky and hear the water 
gurgling below. Above all, the subject that ap- 
pealed to both was the romance of the smugglers 


A Sail at Last 159 

at the ocean inlet, or pirates, as Becky preferred 
to call them. 

There they meant to stay for days, with trips 
ashore, explorations, picnics, fishing, making pic- 
tures, and always the good cheer of the Olivette 
to await them at night. It was an endless pro- 
gram of pleasure that stretched before them, a 
joyous idling in a semi-tropic land where pictur- 
esqueness and romance lurked in every corner. 
When Captain O ’Connor reappeared he shook his 
head. 

‘‘We’re goin’ to have some sea to-night,” he 
began ; ‘ ‘ but we can make St. Sebastian by dark 
if you don’t stop to visit Oak Lodge. What’ll 
it be?” 

“It’s safe here, isn’t it?” asked Becky. “We 
don’t want to go scooting along. I want the folks 
to see Mullet Creek and the Lodge and the walk 
to the ocean. You know what you told me — ‘what 
we don’t do to-day we can do to-morrow.’ ” 

“Make it so,” laughed the captain. “Here’s 
Grant Farm. We’ll lay up in a mangrove bend 
in the east channel. All look alive an’ I’ll take 
you ashore in the dingy.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I can row ; I ’ve done that often. I ’ll take 
’em,” insisted Schuyler. 

Then came a protracted debate in the cabin. 
But, finally, with extra wraps, and the camera, at 


160 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

three o ’clock Schuyler assumed charge of the little 
rowboat, and Mrs. Hatton, her daughters, Becky 
and the boy pulled away from the schooner’s side. 
It was a half mile or more, over a gentle swell, 
to the mouth of Mullet Creek. There were many 
little gasps of apprehension as now and then the 
low swell splashed against the side of the boat, 
but Becky, in the bow, reassured the passengers, 
affirming that the water was but a few feet deep. 
At last, much to Schuyler’s relief, as he was per- 
spiring and breathing hard, the dingy rounded a 
mangrove and marsh island and entered the creek- 
mouth. 

‘ ‘ Oh, look ! ’ ’ exclaimed Lucile at once. ‘ Ht ’s 
all birds!” As the boat pushed its way gently 
through a bay, duck and coot winged a sudden 
flight overhead. Herons were feeding in the tall 
grass where the water disappeared between the 
skeleton roots of the spreading mangroves. On 
the far side of the creek-mouth, moving alone in 
the shorter grass, its gracile neck swaying to its 
dainty steps, moved the royal bird of the river, 
the white ibis. 

‘^And say,” broke in Becky, as all were trying 
to catch every detail of the view, ‘H’ll tell you a 
secret: When we get to Fort Pierce, Captain 
O’Connor knows where there’s some beautiful 
egrets. ’ ’ 


A Sail at Last 


161 


^^Eeal egrets? Where? demanded Lucile, 
whirling about. “Like you pay oceans of money 
for?^’ 

‘ ‘ From some Indians — Seminoles , ' ’ almost whis- 
pered Becky. “I’m goin’ to buy a lot — if they’re 
cheap enough!” 


CHAPTEE XVI 

THE FRENCH KING^S TREASURE 

With even Lncile exuberant over the sight of 
the dark, winding creek, the grotesque mangroves, 
tufted palms, and flocks of cluttering birds, it was 
a jolly party that Schuyler pulled up the little 
stream. Around a bend, a pier jutted out from 
the shore. In a grove of oaks stood a house — a 
plain one-story building draped with strands of 
Spanish moss whose gray lay on oaks and palmet- 
tos alike. 

Looks like a stage where they have old south- 
ern plays,’’ exclaimed Lucile, enthusiastically. 

‘‘Doesn’t it?” answered her mother. “Your 
cruise is certainly a great success, Miss Becky. 
How did you discover this place ? ’ ’ 

“It’s the home of a friend of Mrs. O’Connor’s,” 
explained the girl. “We can go in; Mrs. O’Con- 
nor gave me a note of introduction. ’ ’ 

From the pier a walk of crushed oyster shells 
led to the house. The path was bordered with 
conch shells, bleached a snowy white on the out- 
side, but warm with a pink glow inside. At inter- 
162 


The French King^s Treasure 163 

vals were seats made of pliant palm leaves and 
palmetto trunks. Becky and Schuyler hurried 
ahead to the house. 

A knock was not necessary, for a woman who 
had been kindling a fire in a big smoke-colored 
fireplace met them at the door. With every sign 
of cordiality, she invited the visitors to enter. 

Through a rear window could be made out a 
shaded walk leading back to the sea, bordered 
every few feet with twin sentinels of cabbage 
palms. Eed flowers came out of the white sand to 
decorate the path. 

‘‘You’ll let us use your path to the beach, I 
hope*?” asked Becky, when formalities were over. 

“If you’ll stop for a cup of tea on your way 
back,” answered the mistress of the lodge. 

“And if I ever come to Florida again,” added 
Mrs. Hatton, “I’d like to stay with you a few 
weeks.” 

“We’ll stop on our way up the river,” put in 
Becky. “We can rest here a few days.” 

“I want to stay on the boat,” exclaimed Euth, 
“and sleep in the tent.” 

Halfway through the umbrageous tunnel to the 
sea, Becky and Lucile came upon a venerable 
negro, raking and weeding the path that stood 
out in lime-like contrast with the green vegetation 
bordering it. 


164 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘ ^ How do you do ^ smiled Becky. 

The bent figure wabbled in acknowledgment of 
the greeting. Then, soberly and without a smile, 
the man lifted his white-topped old head and drew 
off a brimless straw hat. 

^^Yaas’m he began. Then his eyes caught 

sight of Becky ^s blue cap. The fingers of his right 
hand flew up in instant salute. 

^‘Is this the way to the beach T’ went on the 
girl. 

^ ^ Yaas ’m. Ef yo ^-all ’s gwine to the beach. Ah ’ll 
step ’long an’ p’int out de seats an’ de shell places. 
Ah reckon yo ’-all’s gwine fur to fin’ shells, 
is yo’?” 

^^Sure,” answered Schuyler. ‘^Do you live 
here ? ’ ’ 

^^Ah’s Miss Andros’ gardnah an’ oystahman; 
dat is, in de season.” 

Walking slowly ahead, Lucile soon made out a 
strip of blue through the arched opening, and 
with a cry of ‘^The ocean!” was off, with her 
mother and Euth close behind. 

When they arrived at the beach there was a new 
chorus of enthusiasm. The hard, white sand 
stretched north and south as far as the eye could 
reach. On its inner edge, almost under the over- 
hanging hedge of squat fan palmettos, lay deep 
ridges of shells, strange growths of tropical seas, 


165 


The French King’s Treasure 

corals, the deep red and black of ocean beans, 
sand-heavy sponges, broken cocoanuts, the cast- 
off covering of the prismatic sea lobster, strange 
shapes in pebbles and stones, and dead branches 
from far-away and unknown trees. 

Between these enticing deposits and the allur- 
ing foam-crested eddies of the spent waves, for 
a time the entire party hurried back and forth. 
The old negro, alone, devoted himself to the shells, 
choice specimens of which he seemed to find with 
frequency and ease. In vain the old gardener and 
oysterman directed the visitors to a couple of 
rustic settees beyond the sand. Mrs. Hatton alone 
took advantage of these. Euth, abandoning her- 
self to the shell treasure bed of color and form, 
followed the colored man. Becky, hardly less 
enthusiastic than the little girl, was too energetic 
to do her searching in one place, but ran up and 
down the beach with cries of delight at each new 
discovery. 

‘Ht^s almost like searching for buried treas- 
ure, isn ’t it r ^ she exclaimed to Schuyler. 

^ ^ Only you find something here, ’ ’ answered the 
boy, with a smile, ‘^and you never find anything 
when you dig for buried treasure.’’ 

The colored man grunted. ‘^Ah reckon you done 
fin’ dat treasure right hyar like as not ef yo’ dig 
deep ’nough,” he muttered, still without a smile. 


166 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

*’ ^ Here ? ’ ’ exclaimed Becky. ^ ^ Wliat treasure ? ^ ’ 

‘‘Yo’ ain’t hear ’bout dat French money?” 
asked the old man, soberly. 

‘^No,” answered Becky breathlessly, with a 
quick look at Schuyler. ‘‘The French money?” 

“Yo’ ain’t knowin’ much ’bout de history oh 
yo’ own Ian’,” replied the colored man, rather 
contemptuously, continuing his search meanwhile. 
“Ah done hear when Ah was a chile ’bout dat 
French money. Mah gran ’mammy she knowed 
’bout it ’fore dey was hist’ries wrote. It’s buried 
some ’ere on dis beach, an’ Miss Andros she ’lows 
it’s in de hist’ry books. Yo’-all ain’t hear ’bout 
dat?” 

Becky, somewhat abashed, shook her head. 
Lucile answered promptly: 

“I never read about it, and I am through his- 
tory. ’ ’ 

The old man shook his head as if in pity. “Ah 
dunno how comes it yo’-all ain’t hear ’bout dat 
French money. Dey’s holes in de groun’ all ’long 
dis coas’ whar folks has been s ’archin’ fo’ dat 
gole. But ain’t no one knows yit whar dat 
money is.” 

“What money?” persisted Becky, breathing 
fast and dropping her collection of shells. 

‘ ‘ De French money ! Yo ’ shorely all know ’bout 
dat French money ! ’ ’ 


167 


The French King*s Treasure 

Sclmyler had arisen from the excavation he had 
been making in the sand, and now confronted the 
colored man. 

‘‘Do they search for buried treasure around 
hereT^ he broke in. 

^‘Not ’roun’ right hyar perzackly,’’ answered 
the old man. “All the way from Mullet Crick to 
de Inlet dey been diggin’ fur back as Ah ricollec\ 
In de full ob de moon de colored folks comes hke 
^twas a oyster bake or a dance. Back dar in 
de ma’sh whar de oaks is, dey’s holes like a 
cementery . ’ ’ 

“And no one ever found anything T’ cried 
Becky. ‘ ‘ Did you ever look % ’ ’ 

The old man straightened and, for the first time, 
smiled. 

“Dey ainT gwine to fin’ no money back in de 
swamp,” he explained, in a confidential tone. 
“Whar dat money is, is whar de Inlet is. Dem 
gov’ment men ain’t gwine stroll ’roun’ in de 
ma’sh. Dey’s gwine put dat money in de handies’ 
place dey kin fin’, and dat’s boun’ to be right at 
de Inlet, ’cause o’ course dat’s whar dey was 
cornin’ into de river when de boat bruk up on 
de bar.” 

“What boat?” again pleaded Becky, “and what 
government men? And why were they coming in 
through the Inlet?” 


168 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘‘Dey’s on dey way to New Orleans/^ soberly 
answered the colored man. 

Going to New Orleans on the Indian Eiver?’’ 
commented Schuyler, with a laugh. 

The colored man looked at him with a frown. 
‘^Ah reckon any way’s de bestest way when 
pirates is chasin ’ yo ” he remarked, sarcastically. 

‘ ^ Oh ! ” remarked Schuyler, and he shrank back 
a little. 

‘‘An’ if yo’ hist’ry can’t tell yo’ dat,” the gar- 
dener continued, speaking to Becky, “dat’s de 
foah millium dollars de gov’ment sendin’ in bags 
to de French King in New Orleans.” 

“The French King in New Orleans'?” cried 
Schuyler, recovering his courage. “There never 
was a French King in New Orleans.” 

The old man turned his back on Schuyler and 
faced the two girls. 

“Dey was a French King down hyar in dis 
Ian’ long time ago, an’ Ah reckon he done got 
homesick or sum ’pin. Leastways, he bargain’ fo’ 
to sell out an’ de gov’ment men in Wash ’ton bar- 
gain’ fo’ to buy him out an’ get all de Ian’. Dat’s 
in de hist’ry books, ’cause miss Andros done read 
it. An’ when dey both bargain dat way de gov’- 
ment men sont a big ship fo’ to fetch de foah mil- 
lium dollars in bags to de Frenchman. Das how 
come it. ” 


169 


The French King^s Treasure 

^^And pirates chased the treasure ship and it 
tried to escape by running through the Inlet 
asked Schuyler. 

“Some folks dat thinks dey knows a lot usen 
to laugh an^ say ain’t no big ship could git by de 
bar down dar. Das’ dey own ignomince. When 
dem days was, dey wa’n’t no bar at de Inlet; de 
big ribber gwine out to sea itself right dar.” 

“Why didn’t the treasure ship escape, then?” 
insisted Schuyler. 

The old man gave the boy no heed, but con- 
tinued: “How come it de ship was wrecked, 
ain’t nobody knows. But mah gran ’mammy she 
’lowed mebbe dey was a big oystah bank in de 
ribber — oystahs was mighty big in dem days, an’ 
de way Ah figger. Ah reckon dem times was most 
two hundred years ago. ’ ’ 

“Then what?” urged Lucile, her eyes glis- 
tening. 

^ ‘ Dat ’s it ! Den what ? ’ ’ asked the colored man. 
“Dey say dem gov’ment men take all de money 
bags an’ tote ’em ashore an’ bury ’em an’ scoot 
f 0 ’ to save demselves from de pirates. ’ ’ 

“I know what he means,” whispered Becky, 
excitedly, as she drew Lucile and Schuyler closer 
to her. “He means the money the United States 
paid Napoleon for Louisiana ; that was a lot, you 
know — millions. ’ ’ 


170 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Pshaw!’’ retorted the boy. ‘^Napoleon was 
never in this country. That money couldn’t have 
been lost. I’ll bet it was all sent to France. And 
they wouldn’t send gold in bags — likely it was a 
draft. ’ ’ 

< < Why, of course, ’ ’ laughed Becky. ‘ ‘ But what ’s 
that got to do with what these old colored folks 
believe? Maybe there was something ^ though — 
some ship that was really chased in there by real 
pirates. They used to bury the money, you know 
— lots of times.” 

‘‘And it used to be right down here near the 
West Indies, too,” added Lucile, soberly and 
thoughtfully. 

“Mr. Mr. ” resumed Becky, her temples 

hot with excitement. 

“Bevans, miss — Spencah Bevans — though fo’ 
sho’t, dey mos’ly calls me Spence Andros.” 

“Mr. Bevans,” continued Becky, excitedly, “do 
the people ’round here believe that this money is 
somewhere near the Inlet ? ’ ’ 

“Mos’ ob de cullud folks sholy does, an’ dey 
mos’ly figgers it was hid right whar dey lives. 
But dat can’t be. When Ah goes diggin’. Ah got 
to dig whar Ah am. But,” and he closed one eye 
significantly, while he moved his head wisely from 
side to side, “dat ain’t no use. Dat foah millium 


171 


The French King^s Treasure 

dollars ain^t really ^roun’ dis beach; it^s right 
dar in totin^ distance oh de Inlet.’’ 

‘^How do yon know?” gasped Becky, stepping 
to old Spence’s side and grasping his arm, 
‘^Tell us!” 

“How does Ah know? ’Cause Ah does. Has 
dey foun’ it ’roun’ hyar?” 

This seemed logical, but it did not wholly sat- 
isfy the adventure-loving girl. “Mr. Bevans,” 
she went on, persuasively, “we’re going down to 
the Inlet and we’ve got a lot of time to look 
around. If you’ll tell us where you’d look for 
the money, we’ll look, and if we find it, we’ll give 
you some — a lot of it — half. ’ ’ 

The imaginative historian looked at the girl 
long and carefully, smoothed out a little hillock 
of shells with his rake, and then said,* with a 
glance of suspicion toward Schuyler : 

“Miss, dey ain’t no reg’lar way fo’ to seek fo’ 
buried treasure. Some folks goes in de full ob 
de moon an’ some w’en de lightin’ storm is rum- 
blin’ an’ crashin’. Some ignomint folks goes by 
de sign ob de gole stick an’ some goes just lickety- 
split. But dem folks ain’t got no treasure yit.” 

“And you?” pleaded Lucile, joining Becky at 
the darky’s side. 

“Ef folks is buryin’ gole,” began the man, ar- 
gumentatively, “is dey gwine root up trees to get 


172 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

a hole!’^ No one answered, and the man shook 
his head. ‘‘Is dey gwine to put it under a rock? 
Ain’t no rocks, ’roun’ hyar,” he went on with a 
smile. “Is dey gwine put it in de groun’ on de 
beach an’ by de bayou whar de water gwine wash 
it away?” 

“I wouldn’t think so,” answered Becky, politely. 

“An’ whar dey put it, is trees gwine grow outen 
dem gole bags?” The speaker paused, as if he 
had made his point. Then, proudly, he concluded : 

“W’en old Spence Andros goes treasurin’, he 
don’ want no moon an’ he don’ want no dark. An’ 
he ain’t lookin’ in de aidge ob de water nur in 
de roots ob de trees. He’s gwine right out in 
de sun whar dey ain’t no trees, nur bushes, nur 
grass, an’ 

Schuyler had squatted on the loose shells again 
and was watching the two girls, with a growing 
smile. They in turn were hanging on the old 
man’s words with rapt attention. 

“Mr. Bevans,” Becky appealed, her grip tight- 
ening on the colored man’s sleeve, “we can’t tell 
by that. How ’ll we know ? ’ ’ 

“Well,” answered the confidential Spence, strok- 
ing his chin and looking thoughtfully down the 
cement-like beach. “Ah nebber has no time to go 
treasurin’ down dar whar de gole sure is; Miss 
Andros done keep me busy tendin’ de shell walk 


The French King^s Treasure 


173 


an^ clippin’ de plants. W’en Ah’s got de time, 
Ah’s gwine dar an’ take mah stan’ whar de ship 
sink. Den Ah’s gwine to say to mahse ’f : ^ Spence 
Andros, how fur can a man tote a big bag ob 
gole ? ’ Ah ’s gwine shet mah eyes an ’ say : ^ Spence 
Andros, dat bag ob gole is on yo’ haid.’ Den Ah’s 
gwine start, sweatin’ and groanin’ an’ sayin’, 
‘My! but dat bag of gole is pow-ful hebby.’ An’ 
w’en Ah can’t tote de bag no furder. Ah’s gwine 
fling it on de groun’ whar dey ain’t no trees, nur 
plants, nur grass. An’ dar’s whar dat gole’s 
boun’ to be.” 

“Fine!” shouted the boy, throwing himself on 
his back. ‘ ‘ That makes it easy. ’ ’ 

Neither girl gave him the slightest considera- 
tion. “May we look in your place!” pleaded 
Becky. “I’m sure we ’ll find something. ’ ’ 

“Yaas’m,” consented the colored man, “seein’ 
as how Ah am too busy to go mahse ’f; but don’ 
take nobody ’long as don’ belieb dar’s treasure in 
de groun’. Dem who don’ belieb is Jonahs.” He 
gave Schuyler a defiant look that stopped the 
boy’s laughter. 

“We won’t,” exclaimed Becky, with decision, 
glaring at Schuyler, “and we’ll not forget to 
bring you your part.” 

“His part of what!” asked Mrs. Hatton, who 
was just rejoining the group. 


174 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


‘‘His part of four million dollars, buried 
treasure/’ responded Lucile, gleefully, her eyes 
sparkling. 

“What? You, Lucile?” laughed her mother, 
astounded to witness the inditf erent girl ’s strange 
fervor. 

“Yes, at the Inlet, and Captain Becky and I are 
going to find it.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


A PEEIL AND A RESCUE 

The repetition of the treasure story, the return 
over the shell walk, a cup of tea with Mrs. Andros 
and the making of an arrangement for a later 
return to the place, consumed nearly three hours. 
When the visitors finally returned to the pier it 
had grown much cooler and there was a stitf 
breeze coming out of the north. 

‘Hf the Olivette is anchored near the ‘Farm,’ ” 
suggested Mrs. Andros, “you may find some 
whitecaps out in the river. Perhaps Spencer had 
better go back with you. ’ ’ 

“I can make it,” protested Schuyler instantly. 
“I know how to row. There’s hardly a ripple on 
the creek.” 

“No,” smiled Mrs. Andros, “but out on the 
river it may be different. There’s quite a breeze. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I can make it, ’ ’ persisted Schuyler. ‘ ‘ It isn ’t 
far.” 

“Are you sure, son?” asked his mother. The 
boy’s reply was a look of half scorn. “It really 
doesn’t look bad,” explained Mrs. Hatton^ “I 
think we’ll try it.” 


175 


176 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

When the Olivette^ s dingy left the pier, the col- 
ored man got into a light skiff and also put out. 
With powerful strokes his little boat shot down 
the creek and was soon opposite the dingy. 

Hello, Mr. Bevans,” yelled Schuyler^ feather- 
ing his oars proudly in a way he had learned at 
school, where are you going — after the French 
King’s gold?” 

^‘Ah’s gwine whar Ah’s gwine — dat’s whar 
Ah’s gwine,” called back the black man, no longer 
trying to conceal his ill feeling for the skeptical 
Schuyler. Becky flushed with embarrassment. 

^^Oh, Spencer,” she added, in her softest tones, 
‘^your boat’s a beauty.” 

The old man did not smile, but he called back 
at once : 

‘^Ah’s jus’ gwine down to de mouth oh de crick 
to get a mess ob oystahs. Yo’-all bettah take de 
no’th channel,” he added quickly, ^^and drap down 
to de schoonah on de win ’. ’ ’ 

There were two mouths to the creek. Between 
these lay the marsh island of mangroves where 
the ducks and herons abounded. Becky and her 
companions had come in by the lower or south- 
ern opening. Schuyler was now headed for this 
channel. 

‘‘He says to go the other way,” explained Becky 
to the boy. 


A Peril and a Rescue 


177 


‘‘We know tMs way/’ replied Schuyler, laying 
to his oars as if irritated at the ease with which 
the old man had passed the dingy. “It’s lots 
longer by the other channel. I guess the old man 
likes to keep his mouth working. ’ ’ 

Becky subsided, but Mrs. Hatton rebuked the 
boy. 

“Don’t bother me,” laughed Schuyler. “I’m 
the captain of this craft. I’ll get out to the 
schooner all right; don’t you worry.” 

As the boats neared the mouth of the river, 
the colored man bore in toward the mangrove 
island. Becky, in the bow of the dingy, kept a 
lookout. Suddenly, as the dingy entered the last 
bend, she saw, dead ahead, a scurry of white- 
capped swells. As far as she could see, the river 
was alive with dangerous waves. 

“Stop! Turn around!” she cried with alarm, 
forgetting her nautical knowledge. “We can’t 
go out that way. ’ ’ 

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Schuyler, with a quick 
glance over his shoulder. “That’s nothing. We 
can make it like a top,” and he lay back on his 
oars with new vigor. 

“Stop, I tell you!” shouted Becky anew. “7’m 
running this boat. We’re not going this way. 
Pull toward Mr. Bevans. ’ ’ 

A glare of defiance shot out of the boy’s eyes. 


178 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

His mother cried out, and Lucile, dropping on 
her knees, caught her brother by the shoulders. 
The boat careened and a splash of water drenched 
Euth’s legs. 

‘Hf you folks T quit yelling and jumping 
around, there won’t be any danger. I know how 
to handle a boat. Sit down ! ’ ’ Schuyler exclaimed, 
as Mrs. Hatton leaned forward. 

‘^Schuyler ” began his mother, but she was 

interrupted. 

‘‘You pull toward the other boat, or I will,” 
broke in Becky, as she slipped from her place in 
the bow to the seat occupied by Lucile. 

“All right — ^you do it,” cried the boy, angrily. 
With four sweeps of the oars he headed the boat 
toward the island and, his mother pleading with 
him and Lucile in tears, the dingy was shoved out 
of the creek current and into the island grass and 
weeds just within the opening of the white-crested 
river. 

“Child,” protested Mrs. Hatton, as Beckys, 
white-faced and trembling, sprang into Schuyler’s 
place at the oars, “you can’t do that. You can’t 
row a boat.” 

“I’ve rowed them in the park,” stoutly replied 
the angry Becky. ‘ ‘ I know how it ’s done. ’ ’ 

“You’re not strong enough,” broke in Lucile. 
“Schuyler!” she exclaimed, turning toward the 


A Peril and a Rescue 


179 


sulking boy. Schuyler had already repented of 
his anger. One sight of the slender Becky had 
shamed him back to his senses. 

‘‘You’re right,” he exclaimed, in a low tone. 
“Give me the oars! I’ll go the other way. We’ll 
go through the other channel and cross with the 
wind. ’ ’ 

By this time Mrs. Hatton was almost panic- 
stricken and Lucile was in open tears. Euth was 
sobbing, her head in her mother’s lap. Becky 
was trying to back the dingy out of the grass and 
weeds by means of an oar. The wind was tossing 
her hair and skirts. But one thought was keeping 
the girl in her senses : if anything should happen 
now, her cruise might come to a sudden end, and 
with it all her plans and hopes. The girl who a 
few days before had shivered and moaned when 
she fell into a few feet of water was now battling 
with her timidity to reassure her patrons. 

“That’s fine!” Becky exclaimed, with assumed 
confidence, at the sound of the boy’s words. 
“That’ll fix everything. I wish some one could 
take a snap shot of us.” 

The boy joined her, took the other oar and 
began to push with Becky. Mrs. Hatton and her 
daughters sat gripping the sides of the dingy, 
trembling and with white lips. The sight of this 


180 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


sent a chill through Becky. Would Mrs. Hatton 
give up the trip! 

‘H’m sorry/ ^ whispered Schuyler to Becky, but 
the girl gave him no answer. 

^ ‘ Isn ^t it fine 1 ’ ’ she shouted, instead. ‘ ‘ Sailing, 
sailing 

^^Over the bounding main,’’ added the boy. 

‘‘This’ll be something to tell about, won’t it?” 
laughed Becky, as she pushed with all her might 
against the muck of the creek bottom. As the 
dingy moved slightly, the girl stumbled but recov- 
ered herself. Yet a new chill of fear swept over 
Becky that nearly paralyzed her. She wanted to 
bury her face in her hands and sob, but the face 
of Mrs. Hatton was before her. She must save 
the day. 

“We’ll get our stoves going and it’ll be warm 
and cozy to-night,” she laughed aloud, “and, 
m-m-m! think of the supper waiting for us!” 

‘ ‘ Fish ? ’ ’ asked Euth, forgetting her tears, ‘ ‘ and 
the funny pineapple?” 

“Yes, indeed,” cried Becky, gayly, her throat 
choking as Schuyler gave the dingy a new rock, 
“fish — fried fish — and oyster soup and big juicy 
oranges. They’ll all be waiting for us. There she 
goes ! ’ ’ 

As the dingy found its way clear of the weeds. 


A Peril and a Rescue 


181 


Schuyler, thoroughly repentant, dropped to the 
oars and headed up the creek close in to the island. 

‘‘Sailing, sailing began Becky again, as 

she dropped into the seat alongside Lucile and 
put her arm around the alarmed girl. “I wonder 
if anyone in the world knows all that song? 
I never heard but two lines of it.^’ Then she 
stopped, recalling that they yet had the river to 
cross. “I’m glad our trouble is all over,” she 
added, with pretended cheerfulness. ‘ ‘ I can hardly 
wait for that hot oyster stew.” Then she won- 
dered what had become of the colored man, and 
peered ahead. There he was, vague in the gloom 
of a big mangrove, sitting in his motionless skiff 
and holding to one of the drooping branches of 
the tree. 

By this time some of Becky’s personal fear had 
lessened. She was yet alarmed, however, over 
the thought that Mrs. Hatton might take new 
fright. What that might mean appalled the girl. 
The sight of the colored man gave her an idea. To 
ask him to help them through the whitecaps to 
the Olivette was certain to start a new panic 
among her passengers. She thought quickly, and 
as the dingy came abreast the silent boatman, she 
called : 

“Hello, Mr. Bevans; we’ve changed our minds. 
We’re going out by the other channel.” 


182 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

^^Yaas’m,’^ was the only response. 

‘‘It’s too hard rowing the other way,” added 
Schuyler, stubbornly. 

The negro made no reply to this. 

“Oh, Mr. Bevans,” added Becky, as if an idea 
had just occurred to her, “have you time to come 
over to the schooner with us ? I want to send some- 
thing to Mrs. Andros.” 

Several sweeps of the oars and the little skitf 
shot alongside the dingy. The old man seemed 
to understand. As onp of his big hands grasped 
the gunwale of the boat, he said: 

‘ ‘ Come in de skiff, young man, ’ ’ with a look at 
Schuyler, “an’ take de painter ob yo’ boat. Ah ’ll 
gib yo ’ a lif ’ to de schoonah. ’ ’ 

Without a word of protest, the boy shipped the 
dingy’s oars and joined the colored man. Becky 
handed him the rope at the bow of the dingy and 
the skiff moved ahead. 

For some minutes, with no sound but the creak- 
ing of old Bevans’ oarlocks, the two boats moved 
forward in the shadows of the mangroves. Then, 
as a chill breeze struck the little party in the 
rear boat, the colored man reached the north 
channel of the creek and headed across. He did 
not make directly into the river, but struck it 
diagonally and pointed against the tide current, 
almost into the wind. The instant the dingy 


A Peril and a Rescue 


183 


rounded the north bank of the creek, two swells 
struck its bow; the flat-bottomed boat rose and 
fell back on the water with a loud smack and 
then the third whitecap broke over the bow. As 
the spray showered Lucile and Becky in the mid- 
ship seat, there were new screams. But not from 
Becky. 

‘‘Sailing, sailing ” rose Becky ^s voice, as 

if this were the merriest moment in her life. 
“Don’t it feel fine?” she shouted, her throat dry 
and her arms trembling. “Let’s turn and get it 
in our faces. It’s like a tonic.” 

“Don’t move!” shouted Mrs. Hatton. “We’ll 
be swamped.” 

“Swamped?” cried Becky, in apparent deri- 
sion. “Why, this is nothing. You couldn’t upset 
this old flatbottom. I love it. ’ ’ Before Mrs. Hat- 
ton could speak again, the daring girl had turned 
and, setting her teeth, sprung into the forward 
seat, where every new breaker sent its salt foam 
over her face and breast. And here, her legs 
shaking, her hands cold with fear, Becky sat, 
gasping with each new break of foam, singing, 
joking and calling to those in the other boat, 
while Mrs. Hatton, Euth and Lucile crouched 
silently in the stern. 

When the shore had almost disappeared from 
sight and even Becky had, for a few moments, 


184 Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 

grown silent, as the whitecaps seemed to grow 
bigger, there was a sudden cry of steady 

aft!’’ from the colored man’s skitf, and then the 
dingy careened sharply. The nervous tension of 
all instantly snapped into a chorus of screams, 
but the next moment the dingy righted and settled 
as if it had slid into a mill pond. Old Spencer 
had brought the two boats before the wind and 
was now running with the swell. A few minutes 
later, without the break of another whitecap, the 
colored pilot swung the dingy alongside the Oli- 
vette, and Captain O’Connor’s strong hands 
assisted the frightened travelers aboard. 

For a moment the colored pilot and rescuer 
was forgotten. Becky was drenched; the others 
chilled and frightened. But Mrs. O’Connor’s 
activity soon changed all. She had the lamps 
lit, the oil stoves heating, and the cheerfulness 
of the cozy apartment was a wonderful panacea. 
As Becky, now genuinely happy, was about to 
join Lucile in Mrs. Hatton’s apartment to change 
her damp dress, she recalled the colored man. 
There was nothing she could think of to send Mrs. 
Andros but a few recent magazines. For Spencer 
she found one of her fast disappearing dollar 
bills and a handshake that seemed to please the 
colored man even more. 

If Mrs. Hatton was discouraged over this inch 


A Peril and a Rescue 


185 


dent, she gave no immediate signs of it. All the 
members of the party were dosed by Mrs. Nora, 
rubbed into a glow, and put into dry clothes. 
And the Olivette being safely moored. Captain 
O’Connor sat with the others when supper was 
served. The captain, impressed by the dignity 
of acting as host, did what he could to make 
conversation. 

‘ ^ The breeze ’ll shift to-night and then we ’ll see 
a bit o’ dacent weather. It’ll go out in a rain, 
like as not. In the mornin’ ’tis sure the sun’ll 
come up like gold, an’ you’ll need no more coats 
this v’yage.” 

Mrs. Hatton looked at him. hope so,” she 
said, slowly. 

Becky tried to say something, but her throat 
filled, the tears beat at her eyes, and without a 
word she arose and rushed on deck. Here, alone 
in the dark, there was one quick gush of tears, 
the relieving luxury of several real sobs, and 
then, drying her eyes and thrusting her hot little 
face into the cool breeze for a few moments, she 
sprang nimbly back into the cabin. 

^Ht’s beginning to rain,” she laughed, nerv- 
ously. thought I heard it. It’ll be a fine 
night to stay indoors.” 

Later, when Mrs. O’Connor’s coffee had woven 
its spell on all, and Euth had been tucked away 


186 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

in her cot, while the patter of the rain grew 
heavier on the roof of the cabin and the solid 
Olivette and fell gently on the still running 
swells, the wind making music in the rigging, 
and the storm shut safely out, Becky and her 
fellow adventurers made cheer within the cabin. 

Captain 0 ^Connor sat stiffly in a corner, where, 
finally, at Mrs. Hatton ^s urging, he smoked with 
great satisfaction one of the cigars that lady had 
given him. After a look without, the wind still 
rising and the rain falling heavier, he remarked : 
‘‘We ^11 take no more chances on this v’yage. If 
we^re not after findin^ Jupiter Jim at Sebastian 
in the mornin’, we’ll ship another hand. Then 
you’ll all come an’ go as ye please.” 

At last the little party broke up. As Lucile 
prepared to withdraw to her cabin she hesitated. 
Then, following Becky into the galley, she said : 

“Becky, don’t you worry. I know why you 
left the table — but it’s all right. I think it was 
grand, and old Spencer’s story was just like 
something out of a book. To-morrow I’m going 
to write all about it to Helen Wallace. And that 
ride in the boat! I think it was lovely — now! 
Don’t you worry, Becky.” 

By half past ten all were. abed. On deck. Cap- 
tain O’Connor, clad in oilskins, smoked his pipe 
and kept lonesome watch. 


CHAPTER Xyill 


JUPITER JIM’s treasure 

When Becky awoke it was daylight. It did not 
seem possible that so fair a day could follow 
such a stormy night. The wind was in the south 
again, and not a ripple broke the placid river. 
Mrs. Hatton soon followed Becky on deck. One 
view seemed to blot out the pictures of the pre- 
vious evening ^s discomfiture. 

The shore trees stood as if newly washed with 
an enameled tint. On the near-by island, pelicans 
were sounding their raucous cries. The sails and 
deck of the Olivette were already steaming into 
dryness and the smell of cooking was in the air. 

Where next. Captain P’ laughed Mrs. Hatton. 

Becky pointed to the south, a throb of joy 
rising in her throat. 

‘‘We’re going to St. Sebastian now, to find 
Jupiter Jim,” she explained, with a smile. “Then 
we’ll have no more trouble. You’re not discour- 
aged, are you?” 

‘ ‘ My child, ’ ’ answered Mrs. Hatton, ‘ ‘ I believe, 
after all, I enjoyed it. It was quite a lesson for 
Schuyler.” 


187 


188 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Mrs. Hatton, Ruth and Schuyler went ashore 
again to confer further with Mrs. Andros. Lucile 
and Becky were busy all morning unpacking. 
When Mrs. Hatton returned, bearing several 
cabbage palmetto hearts for salads, she found the 
two girls in summer garb of white with middy 
hats. Lucile, with her camera, was snapping 
everything in sight. The indifference of the 
young woman was fast disappearing, if it had 
not wholly taken flight the previous afternoon 
when old Spence Andros told the story of the 
French king’s money. 

Hurry along!” she shouted to Schuyler, as 
he shot the dingy forward. ^‘We’re waiting to 
set sail for Sebastian to get some deerskins.” 

‘^And Jupiter Jim,” added Becky. 

A sample of the delights to come on the lazy 
cruise was had while all awaited luncheon. Rugs 
had been thrown on the cabin roof and the little 
deck aft. On these, in flannels, duck and tennis 
shoes, Mrs. Hatton wearing a wide palmetto hat 
given her by Mrs. Andros at the Lodge, the 
cruisers began to taste the joys of real idling. 

^‘And the best of all is,” Becky ventured, ‘‘that 
we don’t have to do anything at any particular 
time. We’ll sail when we like and stop when we 
like. ’ ’ 


Jupiter Jim^s Treasure 


189 


'‘But weVe got to get to the Inlet,’' broke in 
Lucile. ' ' That ’s where the bags of gold are. ’ ’ 

"I reckon so,” laughed Schuyler. "Say,” he 
added, "aren’t you girls going to let me in on 
this? Can’t I dig?” 

"Not if you don’t believe,” answered Lucile, 
her eyes snapping. "We won’t have any Jonahs.” 

"You ’ll have to take me, ’ ’ smiled the boy ; ' ‘ you 
girls can’t dig.” 

"Jupiter Jim can,” exclaimed Becky; "and, 
besides, he may have a plan of his own.” 

"To be sure, he has,” interrupted Captain 
O’Connor, whose idle legs were hanging over the 
schooner’s side. " ’Tis old Spence Andros’ yarn 
you’ll be speakin’ of?” 

"Oh, yes,” exclaimed Lucile; "do you know 
about it?” 

The captain grunted. "None in these parts 
who don’t,” he answered. 

"And haven’t you ever looked for it?” asked 
Becky, crawling quickly to the captain’s side. 

"Well,” answered the grizzled skipper, "I 
never wint so far as to take spade an’ pick to it,” 
and he dropped his voice, "though Nora was 
often in a mind to do that same. But, at that, 
it’d ’a’ been money in me pocket if I had — bad 
luck to me. ’ ’ Lucile drew herself to Becky ’s side 


190 Captain Becky* s Winter Cruise 

and then the skeptical Schuyler also edged from 
the cabin roof to join the group. 

^^Tell us,^’ coaxed the two eager girls, almost 
together, moving as close as they could to the 
captain. 

“Noradl tell it ye, with many details,’’ smiled 
the skipper, ^‘an’ none o’ them sparin’ me. But 
the short of it is that Jupiter Jim got the treasure 
that me wife allows was by rights ours. Jim, 
ye’ll know, sailed with the Olivette, off an’ on, 
this many a year. ’Twas a summer night, five 
or six years ago, he helped me bring the schooner 
through the Inlet on a cruise from Nassau. In 
the bayou just inside, we dropped anchor for 
the night. With nothin’ better to do, I told the 
nigger a fine tale o’ where the French gold was 
hid, pretendin’ I had it from a secret chart I’d 
found. 

‘‘ ’Twas all out o’ me empty head, o’ course, 
but I marked the place with me finger on the 
deck, lyin’ there in the moonlight, an’ told Jim 
just how many paces south the treasure lay from 
a certain oak. Ye can see the same now beyant 
the Shelter House standin’ below the Inlet. "V^en 
I turned into me bunk, Jim’s eyes was yet rollin’ 
big an’ white, an’ when I turned out in the 
marnin’ Jim an’ the dingy was gone.” 

‘ ‘ Oh ! ” murmured Becl^, nervously. 


191 


Jupiter Jim^s Treasure 

‘‘And thenr^ added Lncile, breathlessly. 

‘ ‘ What ^d he find ? ^ ’ asked Schuyler, impulsively. 

“Well,” answered Captain O’Connor, medi- 
tatively and rather sorrowfully, “he didn’t find 
the French King’s money, and he didn’t find 
any buried treasure, unless you call things hid 
in the palmetto scrub buried. All he stumbled 
on was a box o’ two thousan’ Havana seegars, 
sealed in tin, an’ a bale o’ Panama hats worth 
four hundred dollars.” 

“And ran away with all of it?” exclaimed 
Schuyler, while the two girls, their eyes bulging, 
scrambled to their knees. 

‘ ‘ Tis what he done, ’ ’ answered the captain. 

“And got all the money for the things?” cried 
Becky. 

The captain’s mouth puckered. “Well, he might 
’a’ done it, only I caught him hidin’ down in 
Wild Cat Cove. The spalpeen was afraid to cross 
the river. ’ ’ 

“And then?” gasped Lucile. 

“I was fair with him,” answered the captain, 
slowly. “I give him half.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Schuyler, while Mrs. Hatton 
betrayed her own interest in the tale with a laugh. 

“If ye don’t mind,” added the captain, looking 
forward over his shoulder, “I hope none o’ ye’ll 
be speakin’ o’ this to Mrs. O’Connor. ’Tis her 


192 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

way o’ lookin’ at it tkat Jim robbed ns. But I’ve 
never bad it in me heart to blame tbe boy. ’ ’ 
“Weren’t those smuggled goods!” asked 
Schuyler, abruptly. If tbe captain made any 
answer it was lost in tbe sound of Mrs. O’Con- 
nor’s call to luncheon. 

Tacking lazily in tbe soft breeze, tbe Olivette 
made its way slowly across Sebastian Bay that 
afternoon. Just before tbe little town of St. 
Sebastian was reached, about four o’clock, Becky 
served tea and cakes on deck. “They always do 
it in yachting stories,” she explained. 

“But in yachting stories,” continued Lucile, 
“tbe young ladies always recline on long willow 
chairs with white parasols by their sides. And 
young men in flannels pass the cups. That ’s what 
we need — some young men,” she added. 

“What’s the matter with me!” exclaimed 
Schuyler. ^ ‘ These are flannels ! ’ ’ 

“You don’t count,” replied Lucile; “you’re 
a brother. Still, you might pass the tea.” 

Schuyler, who really was entitled to pose in 
such a picture, having made an elaborate change 
of costume after luncheon, made haste to accept 
the banter. He had not been in the best standing 
since his stubborn conduct the previous after- 
noon, and he was eager to get back into the good 
graces of the girls. 


Jupiter Jim^s Treasure 


193 


‘‘How’d you like to have me telegraph to J im my 
Russell to come down and help/’ laughed Schuy- 
ler, as he took the tray from Becky’s hands. 
Lucile’s face grew red. ‘‘He’d swallow your 
treasure story, if you asked him to,” went on 
Schuyler. 

“And so will you, before we get through. Won’t 
he. Captain Becky?” was Lucile’s embarrassed 
reply. 

Becky glanced at the boy mischievously. “He’d 
better, or he can’t go with us,” she said, laugh- 
ing. “ We ’ll take J upit er Jim. ” 

“I vote for Jim, anyway, if we have to go in 
a boat,” exclaimed Lucile. 

“Oh, I’m not afraid of Schuyler,” put in Becky, 
“but I do think he’s kind of stubborn. I don’t 
mean yesterday — that ’s all right now, ’ ’ she added, 
hastily. “Come on; we’re almost at the pier. 
We’ll all go ashore. We’ve got to get cream and 
post cards and — Jupiter Jim.” And, although 
she said nothing about it, Becky had another mis- 
sion. St. Sebastian was Lewis Ahlswede’s home, 
and the grateful girl meant to find where the 
hoy’s mother lived, and call on her. 

Captain O’Connor had made the Olivette fast 
to the pier and was on the dock almost as soon 
as the others of the party. While Becky and her 
friends entered the general store. Captain O’Con- 


194 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

nor hurried to the post office. A moment later he 
rejoined the others. His rueful face told the 
story. His letter to Jupiter Jim had not been 
delivered. Jim had long since gone to Palm 
Beach, where he was a porter in a hotel. The 
captain left the party to scour the town for a 
substitute, announcing as he did so: 

‘‘The Olivette^W have to tie up here till we get 
a hand. ’TainT a one-man job navigatin’ them 
Narrows down below.” 

“We’ll get some one,” Becky assured the 
others. 

“And if we don’t,” remarked Mrs. Hatton, 
“lying out there in the bay isn’t the worst thing 
that can happen. It’ll give us a fine opportunity 
to see the town.” 

Since the town might be “seen” in five minutes, 
this remark showed Mrs. Hatton’s present peace 
of mind. Inquiries having been made, Schuyler 
was sent toward a possible supply of cream. When 
he had departed and the storekeeper later referred 
to the owner of the cow as “Mrs. Ahlswede,” 
Becky exclaimed: “Oh, that’s where I wanted to 
go,” and, Mrs. Hatton and Lucile gazing at her 
in astonishment, the girl ran after Schuyler, with- 
out further word of explanation. 

When Schuyler heard Becky’s feet pattering 
behind, and her “Wait — I’m going with you,” he 


195 


Jupiter Jim^s Treasure 

became a little embarrassed. Becky bad not 
shown any special preference for his company, 
but he was not displeased to act as her escort. 

^^The cream woman is Lewis’ mother,” ex- 
plained Becky, out of breath, as she joined the 
boy. 

‘ ‘ Lewis ? ’ ’ Schuyler repeated. ‘ ‘ Lewis who ? ’ ’ 

‘‘Why, Lewis Ahlswede,” explained Becky. 
“You know, he’s been awfully good to me. I 
told him I’d go to see his mother if we stopped 
here.” 

“Oh, I see,” said Schuyler, without much inter- 
est. “The young fellow seems quite a friend of 
yours. ’ ’ 

“He hasn’t got much education,” answered 
Becky, ignoring Schuyler’s remark. “I’d like to 
help him if I could. He ’s nice, ’ ’ she added. Then 
she smiled: “Only he’s so awkward and has such 
black hands.” 

“Why didn’t you give him a job on the boat!” 
asked the boy, with some irony in his tone. 

“He had a job already,” answered Becky, sim- 
ply. “He could do it, though,” she went on. 
Schuyler gave her a quick look and said no more. 

Mrs. Ahlswede lived in a cabin just beyond the 
settlement. Perhaps twenty acres of ground sur- 
rounded the house, part of it devoted to vege- 
tables and the remainder to an orange grove. In 


196 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

the grassless yard there were oleanders, and vines 
covered the paintless sides of the house. Mrs. 
Ahlswede, when she appeared, showed signs of 
many years of hard work. The room into which 
Becky found quick admittance was clean, but bare 
with poverty. 

The matter of the cream was soon adjusted. 
Then, with all her enthusiasm, Becky told Lewis’ 
mother of her acquaintance with her son. In turn 
the mother told a part of her own story. 

‘‘I’ve wanted Lewis to try to make his own 
way,” Mrs. Ahlswede explained, “but he says he 
has to stay where he can help me. I’ve offered 
to sell the place — it’s a pretty good patch of trees 
— but he won’t hear to it. If his father would 
only come back, it’d be different. But he don’t 
come, an’ Lewis stays.” 

Becky did what she could to console the woman, 
but she had few words and fewer ideas — only a 
heart full of sympathy. 

“Lewis is a fine boy, Mrs. Ahlswede, and he’s 
sure to succeed,” was all she could think to say. 
“I’m sure it’ll come out all right some time.” 

“Some time,” said the mother; “yes, some 
time. An’ it might be now if his father hadn’t 
left us. But Lewis is a good son; I don’t com- 
plain; it’s only for him I feel sorry.” 

There was a lump in Becky’s throat all the 


Jupiter Jim^s Treasure 


197 


way back to the store. Schuyler asked no ques- 
tions. They found Mrs. Hatton still shopping, 
being at the moment engaged in examining sev- 
eral deerskins, fine specimens of the skill of the 
Seminole Indians in curing and tanning. Several 
purchases having been made, and the usual post 
cards mailed, the shore party returned to the 
schooner. 

Becky hurried ahead, anxious to see Cap- 
tain O’Connor. That gentleman shook his head. 
‘^They ain’t a hand in town,” he reported, dis- 
consolately, ‘‘but I’ve sent out word. We’ll have 
to wait.” Since not one of the Hattons seemed 
to care whether the Olivette swung at anchor off 
Sebastian or proceeded at once on her way down 
the river, Becky decided that her concern should 
not be revealed to her guests. Therefore, she 
threw off the disappointment of not finding d^upi- 
ter Jim and the little cloud of melancholy that 
the visit to Mrs. Ahlswede had put upon her, and 
became frivolously gay. 

Although the evening meal was prolonged, a 
moonlight trip ashore was proposed, and Lucile, 
Becky and Schuyler again prepared to set out. 
As they came from the cabin, a dark object cut 
across the moon’s path in the river and a small 
boat rounded up and dropped its leg-of-mutton 


198 Captain Becky’s Winter Cruise 

sail some distance down the pier. The young 
people hurried forward. 

The occupant of the boat took a turn of line 
about a pier piling, threw a box and a package 
on the landing, and then scrambled onto the run- 
way. Becky suddenly rushed ahead to the lone 
boatman. An instant later she shouted : 

‘‘Why, hello, Lewis Ahlswede! What are you 
doing here? Did you come in that?’^ pointing 
to what was scarcely more than a skitf. 

“Yes,’’ answered the boy, laboriously gathering 
up his box and bundle. 

“I thought you only came home on Saturday,” 
continued Becky. 

“I lost my job,” answered the boy, bluntly. 
“I’ve come home to stay.” 


CHAPTEB XIX 

WAITING FOE A FAIE WIND 

‘‘You lost your job!’’ repeated Becky. 

“Yes. Fired yesterday. ” 

“What was the matter!” Just then a disquiet- 
ing thought struck the girl. “It wasn’t because 
you told Mr. Owens he cheated me ! ” 

“He and me never did get along,” answered 
Lewis, evasively. 

“Aren’t you going to try to do anything?” 
Becky asked, with lips compressed. 

“Yes, of course,” the boy replied; “I got to do 
something, but ” 

“I saw your mother to-day,” interrupted Becky. 
‘ ‘ She ’d like you to go away. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ How can I ! ” asked the boy. 

“Your father ought to be here,” announced the 
girl. ‘ ‘ Can ’t you make him come home ! ’ ’ 

“I don’t know where he is, and I don’t care,” 
answered the boy, with some bitterness. “Any- 
way, I ’ll not ask him to come back. He never did 
anything for me. ’ ’ 

For a few moments nothing was said. Becky 

199 


200 


Captain BecTcy^s Winter Cruise 


called to her friends, now far ahead, and then 
turned to Lewis again. 

^^Did Mr. Carlson give you anything T’ she 
asked. 

didn’t see him — ^yes, I did, yesterday. He 
told me he had something for me ; I reckoned it 
was an ad.” 

‘‘Why didn’t you go back?” asked the girl. 

“I was goin’ to, but I didn’t feel like talkin’ to 
no one.” 

“I’m sorry,” exclaimed Becky. “You know 
you did a lot to help me. He was going to give 
you some clothes and shoes and things. I ” 

“I’m much obliged,” broke in the boy. “I 
reckon I needed ’em bad enough.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” urged the girl, “but 
I wish you had gone. Can’t you go back and get 
the things?” 

“I didn’t do nothin’,” Lewis answered finally. 
“It’s all right.” 

“You mean you don’t like to take my present?” 

“I guess I won’t need much, down here,” the 
boy continued, after a pause. “There ain’t nothin’ 
to do but work in the garden or go oysterin’. I’m 
much obliged, though.” 

“I understand,” answered Becky, growing red 
and remembering how she had left Melbourne 


Waiting for a Fair Wind 


201 


without even a final word of thanks or a good- 
bye for the boy. “But I wish you had gone.^^ 

The boy gathered up his bundles and Becky 
walked with him toward her friends. After a 
few paces the girl stopped suddenly and laid a 
hand on one of Lewis’ packages. 

“Say, Lewis!” she began, in a new tone, “you 
know if I tried to give you those things, I 
wanted to. ” 

The boy made no answer. 

‘ ‘ Of course I did. I told Mr. Carlson I wanted 
to give you twenty-five dollars’ worth of things. 
Now I’m unhappy because you didn’t get them.” 

“Twenty-five dollars? Me?” Lewis managed 
to say. 

‘ ‘ Pshaw 1 ’ ’ answered Becky, gayly. “You made 
a heap more than that for me.” 

“We didn’t have no talk about payin’.” 

“Now listen!” went on the animated Becky. 
“You’ve lost one job because of me. I can give 
you a new one. Will you take it?” Lewis put 
down his bundles and wiped his face. “We’ve 
got to have a hand on the Olivette.'*^ Becky struck 
her palms together in the joy of her sudden inspi- 
ration. “Let me hire you to help us. I’ll pay 
you twenty-five dollars to help us a week. Then 
you can come home on the train. ’ ’ 

“Miss Becky,” exclaimed Lewis, “I’ll do what- 


202 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


,ever you want, and go wherever you like, but I 
never made more ’n a dollar a day in my life. ’ ’ 

‘^Will you goV’ persisted Bec^. 

‘^Idl go,’’ replied Lewis, ‘‘but not for no 
twenty-five a week.” 

“I’ll attend to that,” laughed Becky. “Is it a 
bargain?” 

‘ ‘ For a dollar a day. ’ ’ 

“And extras,” added the girl. “Shake hands 
on it!” 

‘ ‘ Did you ask him if he knows about the French 
king’s money, and if he believes it’s buried where 
we’re going?” asked Lucile, when Lewis had 
passed on and Becky had told her friends of the 
new member of the crew. 

“I forgot,” laughed Becky. “But he will, I’m 
sure. ’ ’ 

“I bet he will, if you ask him,” commented 
Schuyler. 

“I’d rather have Jupiter Jim,” exclaimed his 
sister. 

“You forget that Mr. Ahlswede knows a lot 
about boats,” suggested the boy. “You can go 
out rowing now without takin’ any risks.” 

“That’s right,” broke in Becky, who, for the 
moment, forgot Schuyler ’s misadventure. “ Won ’t 
that be fine?” 

Captain O’Connor was elated over the news. 


203 


Waiting for a Fair Wind 

When Lewis appeared in the morning it was as 
if the cruise were about to begin anew. Lewis 
himself was a surprise. His trousers were un- 
doubtedly long saved, and his best. He had on 
a new shirt, rubber-soled shoes and a white hat. 

Before him he pushed a wheelbarrow containing 
a suit case and a crate of vegetables and fruit. 
While the boy and Captain Sam were busy 
together, Becky related Lewis ’ story to Mrs. Hat- 
ton. Later, when Lewis explained that he was 
about to sail the Red Bird around to his mother ^s 
pier on an errand and that he would bring Mrs. 
O’Connor some milk and cream on his return, 
both Lucile and Becky sprang up, ready to be 
invited to go along. 

“If you young ladies don’t mind,” declared 
Mrs. Hatton, “Euth and I will go with Mr. Ahl- 
swede. ’ ’ 

“Why can’t we all go?” asked Lucile. “The 
Red Bird^s big enough!” 

“I’d rather go alone,” insisted Mrs. Hatton. 
When the boat had rounded the pier on its voy- 
age, Lucile was inclined to pout a little, but 
Becky’s brain was too busy to make a disappoint- 
ment out of the incident. She at once took up 
the matter of where Lewis was to sleep. 

“Jupiter Jim could sleep in that stuffy little 


204 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

bow/’ the girl began, ‘‘but we oughtn’t ask Lewis 
to do that. As for sleeping on the deck ” 

<< There ’ll be no need of either,” explained the 
captain. ‘‘The b’y is goin’ to take his boat with 
him, an’ he has a bit o’ tent the size o’ yer hand 
that he sets up in a jitfy. When the night lan- 
tern’s set an’ all’s snug aboard, ye’ll see him 
make for the land. A couple o’ blankets’ll give 
him a bed fit for a king.” 

Becky was a little skeptical at first, but when 
Schuyler announced that he was anxious to join 
the boy when he could, the camp ashore was wholly 
approved. Within a quarter of an hour the two 
girls and Schuyler were off again for the “city,” 
visited the depot and waved in pity at the tourists 
on the platform of a passing train. 

“Just think,” exclaimed Lucile, “we’ll have to 
be going back home some day.” 

“Not for a month, anyway,” asserted Schuy- 
ler. ‘ ‘ When do we leave here. Captain Becky I ’ ’ 

“Oh, some time — any time,” laughed Becky. 

“What if we get tired in less than a month?” 
went on the boy. 

“Oh, you won’t,” insisted Becky. “It’s going 
to be like a moving-picture show; there’ll be a 
complete change of program every day.” 

“There hasn’t been any special change to-day,” 
remarked the boy. 


Waiting for a Fair Wind 205 

“It’s coming, though,” smiled Becky. “We’re 
going fishing. ’ ’ 

Unable to resist Becky’s spirits, Schuyler and 
Lucile set off with her for the river. When they 
reached the schooner, Mrs. Hatton had returned. 

“I did what I could to assist Mrs. Ahlswede in 
a small way, ’ ’ she explained. ‘ ‘ I think the boy is 
deserving, and I ’d like to help him. But he ’s like 
his mother.” 

The fishing party that afternoon returned with 
few fish — several lake trout constituting the catch 
— but the girls and Schuyler had a pleasant 
enough time eating luncheon in the shade of some 
palmettos on a point of Coquina Eock. That eve- 
ning all went ashore to a church festival. Lewis 
spent the night at his own home, and brought his 
mother to the church, where both she and the boy 
looked very uncomfortable. 

Nor was the voyage resumed the next day, as 
the breeze got held out of the south. This day was 
Sunday. The Hattons and Becky attended church 
in the morning, Mrs. 0 ’Connor had a chicken din- 
ner at noon and there was much reading in the 
afternoon. By four o ’clock the young people had 
grown restless and they started ashore. 

“I wonder if Lewis wouldn’t like to go with 
us?” Lucile suggested. 

‘ ‘ I wonder ? ’ ’ repeated Becky. ‘ ^ Ask him. ’ ’ 


206 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Both girls smiled, but neither spoke. 

‘ ‘ Hey there, Ahlswede, ’ ^ called Schuyler. ^ ‘ The 
girls want to know if you^d like to go with us.’’ 

Lewis, leaning against the capstan, with his 
legs propped up to hold a book, lifted his eyes, 
saw the smiling group, and, with a leap, was on 
the pier. 

‘‘Did you want me to do something?” he asked, 
addressing Becky. 

“No,” laughed the girl. “We thought you 
might like to go with us. ’ ’ 

“You’re going for something?” 

“Only for a walk,” explained Lucile. “Don’t 
come if you want to read your book. ’ ’ 

Lewis held up ‘ ‘ Treasure Island. ’ ’ He reopened 
it to the page where he had been reading. “I just 
got to the boy in the apple barrel, listenin’ to John 
Silver,” he explained. 

“We’ll excuse you,” announced Lucile, some- 
what hastily. 

“I’ll go if you want me,” volunteered Lewis. 

“We don’t need you,” added Becky, rather 
sharply, and the two girls walked away. Lewis 
instantly resumed his position on the deck. Schuy- 
ler walked a few moments with a sober face. Then 
he began laughing. 

“What’s the matter with you, silly?” exclaimed 
Lucile. 


Waiting for a Fair Wind 207 

^^Say, girls/’ the boy responded, don’t feel 
badly ; you ought to be glad ! ” 

‘ ‘ Glad ? ’ ’ repeated Becky. ‘ ‘ Glad of what ! ’ ’ 

'■‘Even if he don’t care to walk with you, he’ll 
take Jupiter Jim’s place, all right. By the time 
the kid reads all that book, he’ll be ^buried treas- 
ure’ crazy. He’ll dig through to China for you, 
if you ask him.” 

‘‘He’d better be reading a book on politeness,” 
answered Lucile, tossing her head. 

“Oh, don’t mind that,” protested Becky, begin- 
ning to be amused. “He just happened to tell 
the truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if it would be 
a good thing for him — in the long run. ’ ’ 

When the party returned, Lewis was still poring 
over his book. 

“Hello!” Becky called; “don’t you want to 
come down in the cabin? We’re going to make 
some candy. ’ ’ 

The boy sprang up, seemed to notice the gather- 
ing gloom for the first time, and then said : 

“I’m much obliged. I’d rather go home and 
finish my book.” 

It was now Becky’s turn to toss her head. 

“Well! What do you think of thatP’ she ex- 
claimed, turning to Lucile. 

‘ ‘ Oh, don ’t mind that, ’ ’ laughed the latter. ‘ ‘ He 
just happened to tell the truth!” 


208 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


‘^But I do mind it,’’ said Becky. ‘‘I suppose 
if he ever got hold of ‘Kobinson Crusoe,’ he 
wouldn’t know there was a girl on the boat!” 

Seems to shock both of you!” remarked 
Schuyler, with a grin. 


CHAPTER XX 

THKOUGH THE NAKROWS 

In the morning the wind was fair. At nine 
o’clock the red roof of the Sebastian store began 
to fade among the green palmetto tops, and the 
Olivette moved on her course toward the mouth 
of the Narrows. At noon these were entered. 

During three days the schooner crept on down 
the river. Idle for hours where little bays invited, 
at anchor while improvised excursions entered 
into the mouths of creeks for fish, now and then 
a trip across the peninsula beach and once a glori- 
ous visit to a little ranch where avocado pears 
were among the spoils of a hospitable reception, 
were incidents that crowded one upon another. 

Mrs. Hatton was turning brown and placid. 
Lucile had not only lost all her indifference, but 
she had dropped every social barrier. Both Lu- 
cile and Becky had been accustomed to consider- 
able attention from young men of their own age, 
but, when Lewis was not tending the foresail, the 
jib, the centerboard or the tiller, he seemed to be 
busy devising entertainments for Ruth. By rea- 

209 


210 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

son of this, the two girls almost gasped with sur- 
prise when, late one afternoon — the Olivette 
moored behind a point of rocks — the boy re- 
marked : 

^ ‘ There ^s a party good path through the woods 
over there. If you-alPd like to walk to the beach 
Idl show yo’ the way.’^ 

^^Fine,^’ exclaimed Becky. ‘‘We’ll take our 
supper with us and picnic out on the beach. ’ ’ 

“The beach is damp,” volunteered Lewis, pro- 
saically. “But there’s a better place; they call 
it the ‘Lovers’ Chair.’ ” 

“Oh,” laughed Lucile, “let’s go! ‘Lovers’ 
Chair!’ I didn’t know there were such things 
down here. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It ain ’t nothin ’, ’ ’ returned Lewis. ‘ ‘ They just 
call it that.” 

“Do lovers sit there?” asked Becky, eagerly. 

“I don’t know,” answered the boy. “I’ve set 
there to watch for turtles. It’s a good place for 
that.” 

“I’ll go you,” broke in Schuyler. “I knew 
somethin’ like this was cornin’! I reckon there 
ain’t a square mile o’ land in the world that ain’t 
got a ‘Lovers’ Lane’ or a ‘Lovers’ Leap.’ 
‘Lovers’ Chair’ ain’t so common. Get the camera, 
sis.” 

The picnickers set out about five o’clock, Ijewis 


Through the Narrows 


211 


in the lead with a jug of lemonade and the lunch 
basket. The path was narrow, but not so much 
so that two persons could not walk abreast. In a 
few moments Becky ran ahead and joined their 
guide. 

‘‘Don’t you want me to help carry the basket?” 
she began. 

“It ain’t heavy,” answered the boy. “It’s 
easier this way.” 

“Well, you don’t mind if I walk with you, I 
suppose,” continued Becky. 

“You’d better walk behind,” replied the boy. 
“There might be a snake, mebbe.” 

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” retorted Becky, in- 
dignantly. Then her smile broadened into a 
laugh. “I want to ask you something. Do you 
believe the French king’s money is buried down 
at the Inlet?” 

Lewis’ usually stolid face turned toward Becky 
and his lips parted in a half smile. 

“I reckon you-all are makin’ fun o’ me for 
readin ’ that book, ’ ’ he said. 

“No, no!” exclaimed Becky. “I mean it. Do 
you believe what they say?” 

“Yo’ mean ol’ Spence Andros’ sayin’s?” 

“Yes,” answered the girl. “Miss Hatton and 
I are going to find it. ’ ’ This she said very soberly. 
Then, responding to Lewis’ smile, she added, “if 


212 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

we can. ’ ’ The boy ’s grin broadened. ‘ ^ But we Ve 
got to have some one to help us, and the old 
colored man said it could only be some one who 
believes the treasure is there — like we do,’’ con- 
tinued the girl eagerly. ‘ ^ The old man said if you 
don’t believe it you’re a Jonah. You know what 
that means?” 

“No,” answered Lewis, shaking his head. 

“Well, I don’t either, exactly,” exclaimed 
Becky. “But, of course, it’s something you 
oughtn’t be. You believe, don’t you?” The girl 
looked up at Lewis so wistfully that Schuyler 
caught his sister by the arm and pointed to the 
two ahead. 

“She’s puttin’ somethin’ over on the kid, all 
right,” he chuckled. 

“Well,” began Lewis after a silence, “there’s 
a lot o’ folks ’at has believed ” 

“But youf^^ repeated Becky, catching the bas- 
ket and shaking it. “You can’t help us unless you 
think it’s there.” 

“But no one never found nothin’ ” 

“Stop right there,” commanded Becky. “I 
thought you said you’d go wherever I said and do 
whatever I wanted ? ’ ’ 

“Sure,” answered Lewis, his smile fading. 
“I’m workin’ for you, a dollar a day.” 

“Then you believe it,” ordered Becky. “And 


Through the Narrows 


213 


if you are goin’ to do what I want, you tell folks 
you believe it. I don’t see why you make such a 
fuss about it ; I like to believe it. ’ ’ 

‘‘Well,” answered Lewis, slowly, “I kind o’ 
used to believe all them tales. An’ readin’ about 
ol’ John Silver an’ Ben Gunn in that ‘Treasure 
Island’ book does seem to make it kind o’ easy 
to believe ’em again. Figgerin’ it all over, I 
reckon there ainH no special reason why it ain^t 
so. I can believe it,” he went on; “leastways as 
long as I’m workin’ on the Olivette,'*^ 

“There,” exclaimed the girl, jubilantly. “I 
knew you believed it! Now you may come with 
us. Say,” and her voice dropped, “I wish we had 
a chart or map or something!” 

“Chart o’ what?” asked the boy. 

“A map of where the money is hid, you silly,” 
went on Becky with assumed indignation. 
“Where’s that?” 

“Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed the girl. “Don’t you 
ever ‘pretend’ anything?” 

“Oh, I see!” replied the boy. “You mean a 
chart like that in the front of ‘ Treasure Island. ’ ’ ’ 
‘ ‘ Of course. It ’d be a lot more fun. ’ ’ 

“A map of the land south of the Inlet?” Becky 
nodded, vigorously. ‘ ‘ Sure, ’ ’ went on Lewis. ‘ ‘ I 
can make one o’ them. I’ll put down all the 


214 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

lagoons an’ cuts an’ the swamp land an’ sand 
ridges. ’ ’ 

‘‘And don’t forget the red cross to show where 
the money’s hid,” whispered Becky. 

“And,” added Lewis, with strange animation, 
“that onght to be in blood.” 

‘ ‘ That ’ll be fine ! ’ ’ whispered Becky. “I’d help, 
only I don’t want to see it till it’s done.” At that 
moment a great idea flashed upon her. “Say,” 
and again her voice dropped, “when the chart’s 
done, hide it somewhere in the sand and we’ll 
find it.” 

When they arrived at the beach, new sights de- 
manded attention. The picture of the sea, with its 
swishing breakers; the low smoke of steamers out 
of sight below the horizon, the blue bowl of the sky 
spilling from its depths balls of cottony clouds, 
the shrill cry of the seabirds as they dropped 
waveward in search of food, were not to be ig- 
nored. 

“Now,” interrupted Lucile at last, “it’s getting 
late. Where’s that ‘Lovers’ Chair’? Besides, 
it’s time to eat.” 

Lewis led the way to a rise on the edge of the 
palmetto wood. The elevation was a broken ridge 
of solidified shell and sand known as “coquina.” 
Its flat top, perhaps ten feet square, rose about 
fifteen feet above the sand. Just behind it grew 


Through the Narrows 


215 


two cabbage palmetto trees, crowding each other 
and bending forward nntil their glossy tops over- 
spread a part of the upper surface of the rocks 
like a green umbrella. 

‘‘This is where we’ll eat,” announced Becky. 
“Can’t we get on itT’ 

Lewis led his companions to the rear of the 
white pile. At one time some one had made a 
ladder by nailing driftwood from tree to tree. All 
these supports had now fallen away but one. 

“I’ll make a new ladder,” volunteered the boy. 
He collected a dozen pieces of boards and sticks 
of varying sizes. Suitable lengths he set between 
the trunks and pounded the pieces into place. 
Then the girls mounted the rock. Here, while the 
sun sank and the ocean turned opalescent, Becky 
and Lucile served the picnic supper. 

Even the skeptical and prosaic Schuyler grew 
poetical. Stretched on the rock, the palmetto 
leaves whispering just over his head, he went so 
far as to declare the place was almost like ‘ ‘ fairy- 
land.” 

‘ ‘ Almost ? ’ ’ exclaimed Becky. ‘ ‘ It is fairyland ! 
I’m sure the sea fairies come ashore here at night 
to be under the moon and dance on the white 
sand.” 

“Anyway,” remarked Lewis, “this is a fine 
turtle beach. I’ve laid here many a night in the 


216 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

moonlight waitin’ for turtles to come out an’ lay 
their eggs in the sand. But I never saw no 
fairies.” 

‘^Then we might as well start home,” laughed 
Lucile, ‘‘as it’s getting late and I don’t believe 
we care for turtle eggs.” 

Lewis descended with the basket and Becky fol- 
lowed. Lucile came next. On the bottom rung of 
the tree ladder her foot slipped. There was a 
cry and then a moan of pain. 

“My foot’s caught,” Lucile exclaimed, as she 
clasped a tree trunk. 

“Between the trees?” called Schuyler. “Pull 
it out.” 

‘ ‘ I can ’t, ’ ’ moaned Lucile. “It’s stuck. I can ’t 
move it.” From the tremor in her voice it was 
plain that the girl was suffering. 

“Wiggle it,” shouted Schuyler. 

“It hurts! I can’t!” protested Lucile, with a 
new sob. 

Lewis was already on his knees. In the dark he 
found the girl’s foot, and, with his big hands, took 
hold of her wedged shoe, trying to extricate it. 

“Oh, don’t!” cried the suffering girl. “You 
hurt me!” 

By this time Schuyler was on the beach, looking 
for a match. 

“Let me have your knife, Lewis. I’ll cut the 


Through the Narrows 


21Z 


shoe out,” exclaimed Becky, who was also on her 
knees at the foot of the tree. But Lewis, reaching 
to the top of Lucile’s shoe, took the button flap 
between his strong fingers and quickly unbuttoned 
it. Without trouble the girl now extracted her 
foot, and, while Lewis worked the shoe loose, she 
limped a few feet and then dropped on the sand. 

‘‘Put your shoe on before your foot swells,” 
advised Lewis and this Becky proceeded to do for 
her friend. Lucile, having composed herself, 
found she could hobble along, and the return trip 
began. They reached the schooner long after 
dark. 

On the morning of the fourth day after leaving 
Sebastian the expedition set out to make the south 
end of the Narrows. Three government staked 
canals, like the letter Z, lay before the schooner. 
With shortened sail Captain O’Connor entered 
the first of these. The craft crept at last into the 
shallow river and, by luck or by chance, threaded 
her way past oyster knobs, sand banks and mud 
flats until four o’clock. Then luck deserted the 
expedition — the Olivette was aground. 

For two hours the captain and the two boys 
labored to free the stranded craft. While they 
worked, the clear waters nearer the shore began 
to darken. Then the moon floated above the dark- 
ening eastern river growths. Above the black 


218 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

green of the palmettos there was a web-like tangle 
of pink and fading blue clouds. 

In the west, the sun had left a red glow upon 
the water that disappeared slowly as if being 
soaked up by the myriad-rooted shore trees. Then 
the river turned to an ashy blue. The glistening 
swells showed for a few moments in drops of gold 
and silver. At last the lights died wholly in the 
palmettos and the phosphor glow of night came 
with the stars. 

Just then, and without a sound, the fickle 
schooner slid into the water, white and still in the 
moonbeams. Two bedraggled boys scrambled 
aboard and, a sudden breeze coming fair, the boat 
moved down the last canal without a tack. At 
eight o’clock, clear of the tortuous canals at last, 
the Olivette cast anchor off Crawford’s Point. 

In the moonlight, fowl and fish made sounds 
strange to northern ears. The cry of the loon, 
the caw of hawks, the faint plash of herons in 
their night rookery, the loud puff of porpoises 
and the resonant sound of the drumfish beneath 
the schooner were all music in the hollow night. 
That night, because of the distant and swampy 
shores, Lewis remained aboard. And, while Becky 
and her guests sat in the moonlight, the boy busied 
himself mysteriously in the Olivette ’s kitchen. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE STKANDED SCHOONEE 

There are three ways by which a boat may 
approach the Indian River Inlet, and, through it, 
the sea. Coming from the north, there is a 
devious and shallow channel known as Blue Hole 
Cut. Those bound up the river can reach the 
Inlet by way of Wild Cat Cove. Directly west of 
the sea-gap lies Nigger Cut. All these open- 
ings finally join at the Inlet in one swift tide- 
racing channel. 

The day’s sailing that was to bring the Olivette 
to Nigger Cut began auspiciously. Although the 
cruise was now ten days old, the joy of it did not 
pall. And this day, to Becky and Lucile at least, 
was the day for which they had been longing. 
From where the Olivette finally anchored only a 
distant view of the Inlet could be had. 

Through Nigger Cut the tide was making out, 
washing over the mud flats and scouring the 
crumbling banks of little islands until its current 
entered the narrower water dashing seaward 
through the shore drifts of heaped up sand. To 
the right and left of the mouth of this canal 

219 


220 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

stretched white wastes of sand, palmetto scrub 
and swamp oaks. 

On the southern side, a mile below the Inlet 
and facing the beach, stood a low and strong build- 
ing — a life-saving ^ ^ House of Eefuge. ’ ’ This was 
untenanted, but contained provisions for the pos- 
sible survivors of shipwrecks. To the north, 
where Blue Hole Cut emptied itself into the Inlet, 
a large three-masted schooner lay in the shallows, 
partly careened. 

About two o’clock, with Captain Sam and Lewis 
in charge of the dingy and the Red Bird, all but 
Mrs. O’Connor set out to explore the Inlet. Cap- 
tain O’Connor busied himself expatiating on the 
wonderful fishing possibilities of each bay and 
bayou. But Becky and Lucile, who were with 
Lewis in the Red Bird, had little interest in all 
this. 

‘‘The big boat looks like a regular ship,” in- 
sisted Becky. ‘ ‘ Maybe it ’s wrecked ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ That ain ’t no wreck, ’ ’ explained Lewis. ‘ ‘ Her 
sails are furled. At high tide she’ll be floatin’. 
She ’s been here a long time. ’ ’ 

Lewis finally beached the Red Bird on the far 
side of the Blue Hole Cut, while Captain Sam 
landed on the south bank of the Inlet, apparently 
to inspect the House of Eefuge. The schooner ap- 
peared to be deserted. But, as the boy and the 


The Stranded Schooner 


221 


two girls approached it, a man walked from under 
its lee side, a black hat well down over his eyes, 
his hands lazily deep in his pockets and a cigar 
in his mouth. 

^‘That ain^t no fisherman,^’ cautioned Lewis at 
once. 

‘^And he don’t look like a pirate either,” whis- 
pered Becky. 

‘‘Maybe he’s a smuggler, though,” ventured 
Lucile. 

Upon approaching, the man lifted his hat. Then 
Lewis caught sight of a star almost hidden be- 
neath the man’s coat. 

“We’ve come to see the schooner,” began 
Becky politely. ‘ ‘ Are you the captain ? ’ ’ 

“Howdy do,” responded the man with a smile. 
“They ain’t no captain. I’m in charge.” 

“You’re a special agent, ain’t you?” broke in 
Lewis. The man nodded “yes,” apparently with 
some pride. The boy added: “Was she a smug- 
gler?” The man merely closed his eyes and 
widened his smile, flicking the ash from his cigar. 

“What d’you mean?” exclaimed Becky. 

“We made a pinch two days ago, miss,” ex- 
plained the man, ‘ ‘ and I ’m here guardin ’ the boat. 
There’s been a lot o’ slick work a-goin’ on here- 
abouts an’ night before last we closed in on ’em. 
The gang’s on its way to Jacksonville now.” 


222 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

‘‘I thought the schooner was from New Eng- 
land,’’ put in Lewis in surprise. ‘^They said it 
was. They said they were saltin’ redfish.” 

‘‘They were saltin’ West Injy truck of all 
kinds,” explained the special agent, “mainly 
cigars and rum. We took six boat loads out o’ 
her yesterday an’ there’s more there yet, hid 
under false bottoms. Have a cigar?” he con- 
tinued, as he produced one from his pocket. “O’ 
course we ain’t supposed to use ’em, but a box 
broke. ’ ’ 

Lewis declined, not having as yet reached the 
Havana cigar stage of his career. 

“Is that cigar one of the things they make so 
much fuss about?” asked Becky curiously. “A 
little thing like that ! ’ ’ 

“If you got enough of ’em, they’re worth both- 
erin’ about,” explained the man. “This one sells 
for about thirty cents, I reckon, an’ a good part o’ 
that is duty ’at Uncle Sam puts on ’em.” Becky 
took the cigar in her fingers. It was set off by 
a crimson and gold band. The man, with a ges- 
ture of attempted graciousness, exclaimed, ‘ ‘ Keep 
it as a souv’neer. Hid you want to look at the 
boat?” 

“Thank you, yes!” responded the girl with de- 
light. 


The Stranded Schooner 223 

As they turned toward the schooner Lewis 
asked : ‘ ‘ How many of ^em were there ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Only four ; but there ’s more of ’em around — 
we’re satisfied o’ that. An’ some o’ the stutf’s 
been planted. I reckon you could stumble on ’most 
anything back there in the marsh if you went far 
enough. ’ ’ 

‘‘What’s their names?” continued the boy with 
curious eagerness. 

“Well, there’s the skipper; his papers says he’s 
Captain Douglas Malloch an’ that the schooner 
cleared from Boston last June — she’s the Belle of 
Ipswich in her clearance, hut she ain’t proud o’ 
the name. Anyway, she don’t carry it nowhere. 
Two o’ the men called themselves Sam Brooks and 
Joe Briscoe, and then there was the nigger, 
Jupiter Jim.” 

“Jupiter Jim!” exclaimed Lewis, while the 
girls gasped. 

“You know him?” laughed the agent. 

“We were lookin’ for him,” answered Becky 
hastily. “They told us he was at Palm Beach 
working as a porter in a hotel.” 

“He was,” said the man. “That’s how we 
located the gang. Jim was porter an’ dealer in 
fine cigars. I just trailed him up here and now 
he’s quit the cigar business. We think he was the 
real brains o’ the gang.” 


224 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

For some moments the three visitors could only 
look at each other in amazement. Then the agent, 
escorting the girls and Lewis aboard the schooner, 
told the story of the arrests. 

‘‘Our men ^11 be back about day after to-mor- 
row,” finished the garrulous agent, “and then 
we’ll rake this region with a government fine 
comb. ’ ’ 

Both girls lost something of their gayety and 
when they thanked their talkative host and finally 
took their leave it was rather a depressed party. 
Lewis did not voice his own thoughts, but Becky 
and Lucile felt sorry for Jupiter Jim. Lewis 
pulled the Bed Bird across the Inlet and the two 
girls hurried away to relate their discovery to 
Mrs. Hatton. 

Lewis, lingering behind, drew the Bed Bird on 
the sand and then disappeared in the scrub border- 
ing Wild Cat Cove. When the sober-faced boy 
rejoined the excursionists, they were sitting on 
the steps of the Shelter House far down the beach, 
all watching Euth attacking dead jellyfish with 
an improvised spear. Lewis came out of the 
underbrush behind the house and without speaking 
waited until Becky chanced to turn her head. A 
warning finger pressed his lips and he pointed to 
Lucile. 

“Lucile,” remarked Becky a few moments later 


The Stranded Schooner 


225 


when Lewis had vanished, ‘‘we haven’t been down 
that path back of the house. Let’s have a look at 
everything. ’ ’ 

“They ain’t nothing there,” grunted Schuyler 
who was still irritated over having missed the 
adventure of the stranded schooner. “It only 
runs down to the bayou. I guess I’ll start back. 
Where’s Lewis'?” 

“We left him at the boats,” answered Becky 
truthfully enough. When the disgruntled Schuy- 
ler had started along the beach toward the Inlet, 
Becky, after some persuasion, induced Lucile to 
go with her to see the bayou. As soon as they 
were beyond Mrs. Hatton’s hearing Becky whis- 
pered : 

“Lewis is back there!” No other invitation 
was needed. The two girls dashed into the shrub- 
bery. 

Within a hundred yards the sand disappeared 
in damp ground that was covered with oaks from 
which hanging strands of Spanish moss partly 
blocked the way. Shoe-cutting oyster shells 
afforded an excuse for a path through the oozy 
ground, but the excited girls did not hesitate. 
Then, at its worst, the shells wound through a 
thick hedge of low palmettos, and Becky and Lu- 
cile, with wet feet and tendrils of dislodged moss 


226 Captain Beclcy's Winter Cruise 

clinging to their hair and faces, stumbled out on 
the edge of a winding, tropic-like bayou. 

There, seated contentedly on the edge of a 
rickety pier at the side of which lay a leaky and 
patched old skiff, was Lewis. 

‘‘Why didn’t you wait for us I” demanded Lu- 
cile in panting rebuke. 

“You couldn’t miss the path,” answered Lewis. 
“Besides, I didn’t want ’em to see me.” 

‘ ‘ My shoes are cut to pieces ! ’ ’ went on the girl. 
“It’s awful creepy here. Are those regular oy- 
sters f ’ ’ For answer Lewis, with a deft movement 
of his knife, shucked one of a heap of oysters by 
his side and offered it to the girl. “Ugh,” she 
exclaimed with a shudder as she waved it away. 
Without a word, Becky caught the half-shell and 
dropped the oyster into her own mouth. 

“Now,” she said, “what’s the mystery?” 

“I don’t know as there is a mystery,” began 
Lewis slowly, “but I’ve seen certain things that 
are kind o’ mysterious. I couldn’t figger ’em out 
an’ I thought mebbe you-all could.” 

“What sort of things?” demanded Becky 
blankly. The boy only smiled. 

“Tell us,” commanded Lucile. “Don’t look so 
foolish!” 

“Well,” went on Lewis, “when yo’ left me I 
come down along the bayou, because they’s nearly 


The Stranded Schooner 


227 


always oysters here. 'Bout halfway to the head 
o' the cove I come acrost a cur'ous thing." Becky 
stepped to his side. ‘‘They's a rock up there, 
purt' nigh buried in the sand. An' on it's a 
reg'lar cross." 

‘ ‘ A cross 1 ' ' exploded Becky. 

‘‘A big cross, all faded, like it was mighty old," 
said Lewis gravely. 

“What's that mean?" exclaimed Lucile. 

“That's what I don't know," continued Lewis, 
lowering his voice. “But it's a sign — that's cer- 
tain. An' signs ain't made for nothin'." 

“Maybe something's buried there!" gasped 
Becky. “Did you look?" 

“I didn't think o' that," replied the boy, “but 
mebbe you're right." 

“Well, why didn't you look?" put in Lucile. 
“Isn't this where the French king's gold is hid?" 

“ 'Bound here somewhere," answered Lewis. 
“I'll go back an' look if I can find the place 
again. ' ' 

“And you got us in this wet place just to tell us 
how stupid you were ? ' ' persisted Lucile. 

“Well," answered Lewis, as if at a loss for an 
answer, ‘ ^ after I got here I seen I made a mistake 
not diggin' right away an' I thought I'd consult 
you-all. ' ' 

Becky had been listening, her eyebrows drawn. 


228 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Now she turned to Lucile and winked slowly. 
Then she whispered to her companion. Lucile 
gave one look at the solemn-faced Lewis and broke 
out in a peal of laughter that Becky quickly si- 
lenced by clapping a hand over the girl’s mouth. 

‘‘We’re going back with you,” announced 
Becky. “Can we get there without wading?” 

Lewis ’ only answer was to take the skitf by the 
gunwales and draw it up on the pier. Then he 
turned it on edge and drained out the water. In 
another moment he had slipped the battered craft 
back into the bayou. 

“Hop in,” he ordered, and with Becky in the 
bow and Lucile in the stern — the skirts of each 
young lady sutfering from the water-soaked seats 
and bottom — the boy, with a piece of board, began 
paddling Indian fashion. They were in Wild Cat 
Cove, and within a few moments the water nar- 
rowed into a channel between oaks almost meet- 
ing overhead. 

The channel bore otf to the west immediately 
and seemed at an end, but Lewis drove his craft 
ahead and, after a struggle with reeds, pond lilies 
and water hyacinths, shoved the boat under a 
fallen oak and finally into a wider opening com- 
paratively free of growth. In a corner of a pool 
the paddler drove the skiff onto a beach of white 


The Stranded Schooner 


229 


shells. From this he assisted his passengers up 
a bank of sand. 

As they left the pool the shore vegetation 
thinned. The feet of both girls were wet and 
their skirts were bedraggled. Lewis gazed about 
as if not sure of his bearings. At last, as he came 
upon a half-moon-like ridge of sand, his face 
lighted. 

‘‘It^s west o^ here,^’ he exclaimed, ‘^at the edge 
o’ them oaks.” 

Exhausted from the half run, their skirts grow- 
ing heavier, and Lucile wiggling one foot as she 
advanced, in an effort to dislodge the sand that 
entered the holes in her shoe, the two girls reached 
the oaks in sad disorder. When Lewis decided 
that the marked rock was further to the right 
Lucile protested. 

^‘I’m not going a step farther,” she declared, 
as she seated herself on the roots of an oak. 
can’t — my shoes are full of sand.” 

‘^So are mine,” added Becky. ‘^What differ- 
ence does that make?” 

‘‘It hurts,” answered Lucile. 

‘ ‘ Take off your shoes, ’ ’ suggested Lewis. ‘ ‘ The 
niggers do.” 

Lucile was too tired to take offense. “I wish 
I could!” was her only reply, as she closed her 
eyes. Becky looked at her and then she, too. 


230 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

dropped on the sand. tired, too,’’ she 

groaned. Let’s rest.” 

Lewis walked away a few paces and also 
squatted on the sand. After a few moments he 
returned to the dispirited girls. ‘‘O’ course,” he 
began, “I don’t know what that rock means, but 
it ain’t far away. You wait here an’ I’ll see if 
anything’s buried under it. If they is,” and be 
smiled, “I reckon I can bring it to you.” 


CHAPTEE XXn 

SCHUYLEK HATTON TAKES AN OATH 

When, after ten minutes, Lewis was seen on his 
way to rejoin the girls, Becky called in alarm : 

^‘Hey! Don ^t come back — yetP’ 

‘ ‘ I found somethin \ ’ yelled the boy, quickening 
his pace. 

‘‘Stop, I tell you!^’ shouted Becky. “Wait a 
minute ! ^ ’ 

“It’s a tin box, all sealed up!” 

“Don’t come any closer,” commanded the girl 
excitedly, “we’ve got our shoes off!” 

“And stockings,” added Lucile. 

A hundred yards away the boy paused and held 
up a little cylinder. “It was under the stone,” 
he continued in a loud voice, “and here’s thq 
stone.” From under his arm he took a flat rock 
shaped like a thick pancake. “Ain’t you goin’ to 
open the box?” 

The girls were in a lively conference. On a 
scrub palmetto just behind them hung four black 
stockings. For some time, their damp skirts 
turned up to the breeze, they had been drying 
231 


232 


Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 


their wet feet in the warm sand. But Lucile only 
pointed to the swinging black stockings and the 
boy^s suggestion was abandoned with a gasp. 

‘^Go away and we’ll come in a minute,” called 
Becky at last. ‘ ‘ But don ’t lose us ! ” 

As the boy obediently turned his back, there 
was a sound of crunching sand behind the bare- 
footed girls. It was Schuyler. 

^‘What’s up I” the new arrival exclaimed. 
^^Goin’ swimmin’?” 

There was a new panic, especially on Becky’s 
part. ‘‘No, we^re not goin’ swimmin’ and it’s 
none of your business what we’re doing,” an- 
swered his sister, as she dropped her skirts and 
made a dash for the drying stockings. “You go 
about your business!” 

“What’s the kid doin’ over there in the 
bushes?” went on Schuyler, not moving. “Looked 
as if he meant to throw a rock at you. ’ ’ 

“Please go away,” pleaded Becky, as she snug- 
gled her skirts about her feet. “We’re goin’ to 
the boat, that’s all; Lewis is showin’ us the way.” 

“Oh, he is?” smiled Schuyler. “Well, the best 
way to the boat’s along the beach.” He shook his 
head. “There’s somethin’ doin’ and I want in on 
it. Tried to shake me, eh?” 

“Please go,” repeated Becky, her temples 
growing redder. ‘ ‘ It ain ’t anything — much. ’ ’ 


Schuyler Hatton Takes an Oath 233 


‘‘Muchr^ laughed the boy. ^^Then it is some- 
thing. I ain^t goin^ to mosey till you tell.^^ 

Lucile was already shaking the sand from be- 
tween her toes. ‘‘These stockings arenT dry yet 
and you’re just makin’ us put them on, and like 
as not we’ll catch cold and it’ll be your fault, 
too, ’ ’ she announced indignantly. 

“I don’t care whether you put ’em on,” ex- 
claimed Schuyler, throwing himself on the sand. 
“Tell me what you’ve been up to and I’ll duck.” 

“And how can Becky do anything with you 
here?” persisted Lucile. 

“If you’ve got to know,” broke in Becky at 
last, and laughing in spite of her embarrassment, 
“we’ll tell, if you’ll keep it a secret.” 

“Haven’t been lookin’ for old Spence Andros’ 
money, have you?” 

“We have not,” answered Lucile defiantly. 
“We weren’t lookin’ for anything. But Lewis 
found something.” 

Schuyler was instantly in a sitting posture. 

“But what’s the use of telling you,” added 
Becky. “You don’t believe anything.” 

“What’d he find?” asked the boy eagerly. 

“It was buried in the sand,” went on Becky 
with a tone of mystery. “And it was under a big 
stone with curious marks on it” — then she al- 


234 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

tered her voice a little — ‘^anyway, with a cross 
on it.” 

‘‘A chest?” inquired the doubter, getting to his 
feet at last. ‘‘An iron chest?” 

Lucile opened her mouth, but Becky stopped 
her with a warning look. 

“You aren^t goin’ to know a thing unless you 
go away. And that ain^t all,” went on Becky in 
apparent soberness. “YouVe got to promise 
something. Will you promise not to tell anyone 
and not to make fun?” 

The boy nodded his head in sudden acqui- 
escence. 

“That won’t do at all,” objected Becky. “We 
don’t know what this is, but it was buried right 
out here in the sand where pirates used to be and 
where the French king’s money bags are hid. 
Maybe it might be a map or chart or something 
telling about everything.” Schuyler, who had 
been listening soberly, now smiled. “And if it 
is,” went on Becky with vigor, “I reckon it’d 
spoil everything, just like the old colored man 
said, to have somebody mixed up with it who don ’t 
believe anything. It ’d J onah everything, maybe. ’ ’ 
In her excitement Becky’s bare feet had escaped 
from beneath her skirts. 

“I’ll promise,” said Schuyler, his smile broad- 
ening into a grin. 


Schuyler Hatton Takes an Oath 235 

‘‘No, no,^’ protested the girl, arising quickly. 
“Cross your heart you won't tell and won't make 
fun and that you'll believe,'*^ 

“But what if I won't?" ventured the boy pro- 
vokingly. “The kid'll tell me anyway." 

“He will noty^^ retorted Lucile defiantly. 

“And we won't open whatever it is while you're 
around, ' ' added Becky as a clincher. 

‘ ‘ J ust tell me what it looks like, ' ' begged Schuy- 
ler. 

“It's a metal thing, round, and all sealed up," 
announced Becky promptly. “Are you goin' to 
promise ? " 

“I reckon I'll have to," Schuyler answered 
slowly and as if making a great concession. “I 
promise," he added at last, crossing his chest 
with an elaborate motion. “I'll find the kid." 

As he turned away Lucile tossed Becky her 
stockings. Then Becky realized that she had been 
standing barefooted for some minutes. 

“Why didn't you tell me?" she exclaimed, her 
temples flaring red again. 

“Oh, he's nobody," answered Lucile. “Be- 
sides, you don't need to care; your feet are small 
enough." 

Stockings and skirts were at least dry enough 
to make the two girls feel more comfortable, and 
in a few minutes they were ready for new adven- 


236 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

tures. Schuyler had found Lewis and the two 
boys were discovered in animated talk, Schuyler 
laughing and Lewis very sober. 

‘‘Well,’’ exclaimed Schuyler as the girls pulled 
themselves through the soft sand to where Lewis 
was waiting, “here’s the pile of rocks it was 
under.” He pointed to the little slab of the co- 
quina that had plainly been carved from some 
near-by formation. “And here’s the carvin’; 
looks like it was done with a dagger, don’t it?” 

Both girls puckered their mouths solemnly and 
Lucile said: 

‘ ‘ Or, maybe, with a pirate cutlass ! ’ ’ 

“Or a nail,” added her brother. “And here’s 
your treasure chest.” 

Becky grasped the little cylinder. The recep- 
tacle was coated with rust. A lid was made fast 
with sealing wax and the same material covered 
a seam on one side. There was also a smear of 
pitch well rubbed into the rust. 

‘ ‘ It looks awful old, ’ ’ commented Becky. ‘ ‘ How 
deep was it I ” 

“Purty deep,” answered the boy, noncommit- 
ally. “There ain’t any reason why it couldn’t ’a’ 
been buried a hundred years.” 

“If they made bakin’ powder cans a hundred 
years ago,” suggested Schuyler. 


Schuyler Hatton Takes an Oath 237 

Both girls turned upon the scoffer with rebuke 
in their eyes. 

‘‘You remember what you promised?’^ cau- 
tioned Becky. 

“It don’t feel heavy enough to be silver,” ob- 
served Lewis. “But, whatever it is, what’s in it 
must be important. See how it’s sealed? Mebbe 
we ought to have a fire to melt the top loose. ’ ’ 

“Fire nothin’!” exclaimed Schuyler. “Gi’ me 
the tin.” Before he could be stopped the faithless 
Schuyler grabbed the tin can from Lewis’ hand 
and twisted the top loose. “Nothin’ but a piece 
o’ paper,” he exclaimed, laughing. 

“A piece of paper!” shouted Becky, drawing 
forth the contents of the can. “It’s a map — a 
chart! Oh, look! Maybe it’s a treasure chart!” 

Schuyler looked at Lewis and winked. But 
Lewis gave no sign of levity. He took the folded 
sheet as soberly as if the ghost of Captain Kidd 
had handed him a blood-inscribed parchment. 

“It certainly looks like a map,” he commented 
gravely. “And if I ain’t mistaken it’s a chart o’ 
this very place. Yes, sir, it is,” he declared, as if 
the full significance of the sheet had just dawned 
upon him. “It’s sure a map o’ this land. Now 
what ’d you reckon that means ? ’ ’ 

Becky was crowding close on one side of Lewis 
and Lucile on the other. Schuyler, a meaning 


238 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

smile on his face, was trying to get the paper. 
‘ ‘ I guess it ain ^t so very old, ’ ’ he commented. ‘ ^ It 
looks like cheap foolscap paper. ’ ^ 

That’s when they made foolscap paper,” re- 
torted Lucile, ‘‘years and years ago.” Then, on 
an inspiration, she added: “Hundreds of years 
ago when there were kings everywhere and they 
all had court fools and fools’ caps.” Properly 
rebuked, Schuyler subsided for the moment. 

“It must be awful old,” Becky commented. 
“See how frazzled and brown the edges are. 
Maybe there was a quarrel and some one tried to 
burn it.” 

“It does look scorched,” added Lewis. 

“Say!” shouted Schuyler, as Becky, Lucile and 
Lewis dropped their heads together over the 
charred sheet. “Unless you’re goin’ to swallow 
it, tell a fellow what ’s on your map ! ’ ’ 

“There ain’t much,” answered Lewis. “I 
guess pirates an’ such were never much for 
writin’. But it’s a map sure enough. Here’s the 
Inlet,” he went on, fixing a finger on the paper, 

“an’ here’s what we call Jack Island ” 

“And look!” broke in Becky excitedly, “what’s 
that, way down at the bottom ? ’ ’ Again the heads 
went down, this time Schuyler’s included. “It’s 
a ring with a cross in it and some printing.” 


Schuyler Hatton Takes an Oath 239 


“ ‘Where treasure is hid/ ’’ shouted Lucile 
breathlessly. 

“Only it ain’t spelled right,” added Schuyler. 
“There’s an ‘a’ in treasure and an ‘e’ on the 
end. ’ ’ 

Lewis glanced up in confusion. “Is that 
right?” he asked. Then he went on as quickly: 
“O’ course, they was purty poor spellers back in 
them times.” 

“And what a peculiar color,” put in Becky. 
“That cross and writing aren’t a bit like the 
rest. ’ ’ 

“Mebbe it’s blood, turned brown,” suggested 
Lewis, gruesomely. “Sometimes the old bucca- 
neers signed their names in blood.” 

“Say,” exclaimed Schuyler. “Do you folks 
figure that this chart’s goin’ to show you where 
the French king’s money bags are hid?” 

“Of course,” answered Becky. “Look, down 
in this corner.” There, in crude printing, were 
the words “French King’s money” and under 
them a rough drawing of a skull and cross bones. 
Beneath these were the words “Brethren of the 
Coast.” 

‘ ‘ What ’s that mean ? ’ ’ cried Becky, as she made 
out these words, looking inquiringly at Lewis. 

“That’s the name the old buccaneers an’ pirates 
went by, ’ ’ explained Lewis proudly. 


240 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

‘‘That’s right!” added Schuyler with a new 
smile. “But the French king’s gold didn’t be- 
long to pirates. Old Andros says the President 
sent it down here. That’d mean a man o’ war, 
not a pirate ship. What’s pirates got to do with 
it?” 

“There’s a thousand ways they could ’a’ got 
it, ’ ’ answered Becky. ‘ ‘ Maybe the old colored man 
didn ’t know and the pirates got it after all. How 
about that?” 

\ Schuyler having no answer for this, other than 
a grin, Becky folded the chart and concealed it 
in her waist. “We don’t care what you think,” 
she concluded defiantly, “but you crossed your 
heart not to tell.” 

It was not far from where the chart was found 
to the boats. When the adventurers made their 
appearance at the landing Mrs. Hatton awaited 
them. With great skill Lucile managed to con- 
ceal the gaps in her shoe. The return to the 
Olivette followed and was made on the ebb tide. 

Schuyler respected his pledge and no word of 
the secret leaked out. That evening Becky whis- 
pered to Lewis: “It was fine. It was just like 
real; I thought you couldn’t pretend!^’ 

After a moment the boy replied, “I guess 
mebbe that’s the way the man made up the story 
about ‘Treasure Island’; just pretendin’.” 


Schuyler Hatton Takes an Oath 241 

course,” answered Becky. ^^Didn^t you 
know that?” 

‘ ‘ I always thought stories was partly true, any- 
way,” replied the boy. ‘^Do you want me to pre- 
tend any more?” 

‘‘We don^t have to, now,” exclaimed Becky. 
“All weVe got to do is to dig up the treasure.” 
Ker eyes sparkled with merriment. “We know 
where it is, because we found the chart. Lucile 
and you and I are goin’ to find it the first chance 
we get. And we won’t take Schuyler, he’s a 
Jonah.” 

The next morning Schuyler had plans for an 
excursion to the beach to look for sharks behind 
the reefs and to visit the stranded schooner. 
There was counter talk of a fishing trip behind 
Jack Island, but Mrs. Hatton elected the schooner 
visit, and about ten o’clock, with Schuyler, Euth 
and Captain O’Connor, she set out. 

No sooner had the dingy disappeared than the 
two girls and Lewis hurried to the cabin. For 
ten minutes there was a subdued conference. Cap- 
tain O’Connor’s big “coast survey chart” was 
spread out and the locations on the treasure chart 
were compared and checked off. 

Below Wild Cat Cove came a bulge to the 
west, Cook Point; then a cape extending south, 
the Boot Toe ; then a wide bay, unnamed but con- 


242 


Captain Becky^s Winter Cruise 


taining within it Coon Island. Northeast of this 
island, on the peninsula, was the cross and the 
fascinating Where tresur is hid.’’ 

^ ‘ How far is this below the House of Eefuge ? ’ ’ 
asked Lucile. 

With the map scale Lewis soberly measured 
the distance. 

‘‘One an’ five-eighth miles,” he answered. 

“We’ll get some lunch,” announced Becky, 
‘ ‘ and you find a shovel and pick. ’ ’ 


CHAPTEE XXIII 

THE ISLAND IN THE MAKSH 

There was neither pick nor shovel on the 
schooner, a fact quickly announced by Lewis, who 
suggested a hatchet as a substitute. This, Becky 
thought, with the addition of an iron spoon, might 
be sufficient. Lewis gravely acquiesced. 

Therefore, while Becky and Lucile selected 
their heaviest shoes and most substantial skirts, 
and Mrs. 0 ^Connor prepared luncheon, Lewis 
made the boat ready. By this time Becky found 
cause for some apprehension. The excursionists 
to the smugglers ’ schooner might now be on their 
way back. If the treasure seekers proceeded di- 
rectly down the cut to the Inlet they might be 
discovered. 

‘^Schuyler ’ll make a fuss,” she explained, ‘‘and 
he’ll insist on going with us. That’ll spoil every- 
thing. ’ ’ 

“He certainly is a Jonah, or whatever you call 
them,” agreed Lucile. 

“Can’t we sneak across into the Fort Pierce 
channel?” Becky asked Lewis. 

243 


244 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

don^t need to do that/’ explained their 
escort. ‘‘We can sail right down the river inside 
o’ Jack Island till we come to Coon Island Bay 
and then cross to the peninsula just where we 
want to land. ’ ’ 

This was agreed upon and the Red Bird was 
headed south. Lewis stood well over toward the 
west shore until nearly noon, when he made a tack 
for Coon Island. The bay into which the Red Bird 
soon made its way was thick with great vegetable 
islands of entangled water hyacinths and Coon 
Island itself was but a footless marsh of strag- 
gling mangrove trees. Rounding this, an arm of 
the bay bent about Boot Toe Point and disap- 
peared within the peninsula. Directly east lay the 
solid land of the peninsula itself. 

“It’s the narrowest point on the coast,” ex- 
plained Lewis, “only a few hundred yards from 
the river to the ocean.” 

“And our place is up there where the bay bends, 
isn’t it?” asked Becky. 

Lewis smiled. “That’s what the chart says,” 
he qualified, “northeast o’ Coon Island.” 

“It looks awfully swampy,” suggested Lucile. 

“Hadn’t we better land first and eat?” asked 
Becky. 

Without response Lewis headed the boat to- 
ward the sandy ridge opposite. Just as the Red 


The Island in the Marsh 


245 


Bird*s bow ran on a beach of sand a familiar 
voice startled the conspirators. 

“I thought you^d be here. I just took a little 
run down the beach to meet you. Thought you^d 
put somethin’ over on me, eh?” and Schuyler ap- 
peared among the shore palmettos. ‘‘This is 
where your chart said you’d find it,” he went on 
with a grin, “and I knew you wouldn’t lose any 
time. Got plenty to eat?” 

“You’re a Jonah,” called out Lucile. “G« 
away ! ’ ’ 

“Eemember what you promised,” added Becky, 
warningly. 

“I’ll help,” answered Schuyler in a burst of 
assumed enthusiasm. “Why not?” he added. 
“Didn’t I see the chart? It’s right over there,” 
he continued, pointing toward the arm of the 
bay, “and if you’ll furnish the eats I’ll believe 
the place is paved with gold dollars an’ pieces 
of eight.” 

“No, sir,” persisted Lucile. “You’re just sayin’ 
that to get your dinner and make fun. You can 
have your lunch and then you’ve got to leave. 
We won’t do a thing while you’re hanging around 
to— to ” 

“Jonah us,” finished Becky. 

Although Schuyler did his best to placate the 
girls, they held out against him and, the luncheon 


246 Captain Bechy^s Winter Cruise 

over, they ordered him to leave. When he laugh- 
ingly refused, they hurried into the boat and 
shoved otf without him. Lewis, refusing to inter- 
est himself in Schuyler’s cause, headed the Bed 
Bird toward the bend and left the boy protesting 
indignation. That this was assumed was indi- 
cated by the fact that Schuyler, after pretending 
to start for the beach, really followed the boat by 
dodging along the shore among the palmettos, 
oaks, and, finally, marshy mangroves and tall 
grass. 

When his advance became almost impossible, 
Schuyler headed toward the higher part of the 
peninsula, determined to make a detour and pos- 
sibly join the occupants of the Bed Bird at the 
head of the bay arm. 

Lewis soon found trouble. The boy was on 
water he had never visited. Not only was the 
winding estuary thick with obstructing lilies, hya- 
cinths and weeds, but it was shallow. Progress 
could only be made between broad and unseen 
mud flats. But the keen-eyed pilot soon dis- 
covered bunches of dead palmetto leaves stuck 
here and there by which he knew some one used 
the bay. By following these signs he advanced 
finally into a narrow overhung tunnel of oaks and 
mangroves. 

Then, the same observing eyes made out, start- 


The Island in the Marsh 


247 


ing under a specially low-hanging mangrove tree, 
a canal, not more than four feet wide. Lewis 
could make out a boat within the opening, un- 
masted and almost concealed beneath palmetto 
branches. Eager to give some zest to the expedi- 
tion, he unstepped his own mast and pushed the 
Red Bird into the hidden harbor. There was just 
room for the two boats. 

The boy was rejoiced to discover what he hoped 
to find. At the side of the hidden boat was a 
packed mass of broken oyster shells affording a 
footing in the swamp. Leading from this were 
palmetto tree trunks on which there was a possi- 
bility of getting forward with dry feet. Some- 
where, he concluded, a path must be found back 
in the swamp leading to the ridge beyond. And 
there Lewis was prepared to at last select a con- 
venient spot in which to search for the French 
king’s money. 

If the treasure seekers had followed their chart 
with precision, the cross indicating the treasure 
would have been found several hundred yards 
south of this little canal and not far from the 
shore of the bayou. Lewis had marked this point 
when the Red Bird passed Coon Island, using 
Captain O’Connor’s compass and locating the 
spot by a dead oak. 

‘‘But,” he explained, “since there ain’t any- 


248 Captain Becky* s Winter Cruise 

thing there but water, it stands to reason weVe 
got to follow the line northeast till it strikes dry 
ground. ’ * 

‘^Do we have to walk on these logs to get 
there asked Lucile hesitatingly. 

Start ahead, was Becky’s prompt suggestion, 
and Lewis prepared to lead the girls over the 
half stagnant water and oozy ground. Before 
he had gone ten feet, a sound stopped all instantly. 
A gruff voice, in evident anger, sounded not far 
away. Almost with it came a sharp rejoinder. 
At first, none of the treasure seekers could dis- 
tinguish the words. 

‘‘I tell yo’ to git” — now the gruff voice was 
more audible — ‘^or I’ll make yo’!” 

‘‘Keep your shirt on,” was the clearer answer. 
“I ain’t botherin’ you.” 

“It’s Schuyler,” exclaimed Lucile. “What 
can he ” 

“This ain’t no place fer sneaks. Mosey out o’ 
here er I’ll give yo’ a taste o’ bird shot. What 
yo’ lookin’ fer!” 

“I’m lookin’ for my friends,” replied the other 
voice. 

“Well, yo’ ain’t got no friends ’round here. 
This is private. Now git!” 

“My friends are down there on the bay,” per- 


The Island in the Marsh 249 

sisted the second voice, ‘‘in a boat; I^m lookin’ 
for ’em.” 

“Yo’ git back the way yo’ come,” exclaimed 
the deeper voice with an oath, “an’ fergit the 
path. Ef I see yo’ sneakin’ this way agin I’ll fill 
yo’ full o’ lead. Understand?” 

At these words Lewis, pale of face and listening 
intently, sprang forward. The two girls grasped 
each other. 

“It’s Schuyler, I tell you,” panted Lucile. 
‘ ‘ Something ’s happened. ’ ’ 

Becky gasped with excitement. “I hope he’s 
gone,” was all she could think to say and then, 
also trembling from' fright, she closed her eyes 
like one preparing for the explosion of a near-by 
firearm. In a few moments came another voice. 

“Put that gun down!” It was Lewis. “Stop, 
or you’ll be sorry.” 

There was an instant exclamation ending in 
another oath. “ Where ’d yo’ come from?” 

“Don’t matter where I come from. You drop 
that gun.” 

“Oh,” sounded the deep voice in an attempt 
at a laugh. “Come to spy on the old man, did 
you?” 

The two girls faced each other in paralyzed sur- 
prise. 

“So you’ve took to smugglin’?” were the next 


250 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

words — ^Lewis speaking in new anger. ^ ‘ No won- 
der we didn^t know where you were ’’ 

Before the sentence was completed there was 
the sound of a scuffle, a jumble of half-spoken 
words, all preceded by a cry of ^Mook out!’^ from 
Schuyler, and finally Becky and Lucile, crouch- 
ing against an oak, heard a new interchange of 
words that were indistinguishable. Lucile was 
crying. 

‘‘Some one^s hurt, I know it,” she sobbed. 
Becky could no longer restrain herself. “I’ll 
see,” she panted, and loosening herself from Lu- 
cile ’s grasp crept forward on the treacherous 
footway. 

When the trembling girl at last made her way 
into the depth of the swamp to where a wall of 
palmettos, water oaks, Spanish moss and tangled 
vines almost stopped her, the sound of voices led 
her to the right. A log, half submerged, spanned 
a currentless stretch of stagnant water. She 
crossed, not stopping to reason, and found her- 
self in the edge of a new thicket of gigantic 
grasses — higher than her head. 

But she found herself on solid ground. In fact, 
she was standing on one of those curiosities of 
southern swamps — a firm island of small shells. 
This, at the moment, she did not note, for the bent 
grasses showed a dim path before her and, heed- 


The Island in the Marsh 


251 


less of her footing or her clothes, she plunged 
into the opening. Within five yards the wall of 
grass ended. 

^‘Go back/’ exclaimed a voice and, almost be- 
fore she could examine the circular opening, the 
girl saw Schuyler running toward her. But 
instead of going back, Becky ran toward the boy. 

‘^AVliat’s happened?” she whimpered. 

“Nothing much,” panted Schuyler, his face 
white. “It’s all over now; it’s all right.” 

Reassured by Schuyler’s presence, the girl 
looked about. In a grass-entangled enclosure, 
not over thirty feet across and dark within the 
shadow of a wall of trees, gloomy beneath clouds 
of swaying moss, stood a low hut. It was wholly 
of palmetto branches, withered and brown, the 
latania cabin of the swamps. In front, where 
the white shells were begrimed with the black of 
half-burned firewood, a pot steamed on a smolder- 
ing fire. 

In the open front of the cabin sat a man, his 
knees drawn under his chin. Near by stood Lewis 
with a sawed-otf shotgun in his hands. The man 
looked at Becky but he said nothing. Schuyler, 
trembling with excitement, spoke first. 

“I was trying to find you folks,” he managed 
to explain, “and I wandered into the swamp and 
got lost. Then I saw smoke and waded over here. 


252 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

He,’’ and he indicated the man, ‘‘got mad and 
threatened to shoot me.” 

“There’s a log right there,” answered Becky, 
recovering herself, “and some others leading 
toward the bay. Lncile’s back there. You go 
and stay with her.” 

“I’ll bring her here,” suggested Schuyler. 

“No,” exclaimed Lewis. “You wait there. 
We’ll be along in a few minutes.” 

When the rasping grasses shut Schuyler’s form 
from sight, Becky, already suspecting the truth, 
advanced toward the cabin. The man scrambled 
slowly to his feet. He seemed stiffened with 
rheumatism. He wore an old shooting coat and 
trousers, both revoltingly greasy. A beard hflng 
down over a soiled red undershirt but it was too 
thin to conceal this defect in costume. A heavy 
palmetto hat, sun-baked to chocolate color and 
with its limp brim turned up all around, completed 
his garb. 

“This is my father,” said Lewis at last, show- 
ing no emotion. 

The girl hesitated while the man turned sud- 
denly toward Lewis in a startled manner. Then, 
Becky, hardly knowing what she was doing, ad- 
vanced and held out her hand. The old man 
moved back, 

“I know Lewis,” faltered the girl, “and he’s 


The Island in the Marsh 


253 


been very kind to me. I’m glad to know yon.” 
She held ont her hand again. The man seemed 
frightened but this time he could not escape. ‘^I’m 
Marjorie Beckwith,” went on the girl, smiling 
because she did not know what else to do; ‘‘we’re 
on a pleasure cruise and our schooner’s up at 
the Inlet.” 

The man, with one eye still on Lewis, took the 
girl’s hand and instantly released it. 

“I thought you was workin’ in the printin’ 
office,” he mumbled at last, still watching Lewis. 
The boy, his face cold and hard, did not answer. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Becky inno- 
cently. Then, in sudden alarm, she added; “It’s 
a nice little place for a camp.” 

“What’s he doin’?” repeated Lewis, instantly. 
“I’ll tell you what he’s doin’, since I reckon he 
won’t — ^pref errin’ to shoot people. He’s just 
smugglin’, that’s all.” 

“I ain’t,” broke in the man in a trembling 
voice. “I ain’t no smuggler.” 

“No, I reckon not,” exclaimed Lewis in new 
anger. “You’re just hidin’ stuff. Smugglin’s 
too dangerous, I reckon. He’s just a watchman 
for smugglers — layin’ in the grass to shoot people 
in the back.” 

The old man made a feeble effort to resent the 
charge but the result was without effect, for 


254 Captain Becky Winter Cruise 

Lewis walked toward him, his eyes flaming and 
his lips drawn. 

‘‘Look!’’ exclaimed the boy, pointing within the 
hnt, ‘ ‘ This is why my mother has to work alone ; 
this is how some folks make a livin ’, guardin ’ con- 
traband for law breakers an’ niggers.” 

“ Niggers wheezed his father. 

“Yes, niggers,” repeated Lewis. “But you’ll 
get no pay for layin’ out here in the swamp. 
Jupiter Jim’s pinched. Your boss’ll not come 
for his stuff. The gang’s all arrested. And 
you’ll be, too, before dark to-morrow.” 

Becky had given the interior of the cabin one 
sweeping,* curious glance. She made out vaguely 
an old blanket on the shells and, piled about it, 
bales, small crates, casks and tins. At her feet 
she saw a bit of gold and crimson paper. It was 
a cigar band such as the revenue officer’s cigars 
bore. These, then, were goods from the smug- 
gler’s schooner, hid in the marsh to be carried 
secretly across the river and down to Palm Beach. 
And Lewis’ father was a smuggler, guilty with 
the others, who must soon be found and carried 
away like Jupiter Jim and his pals. 

The old man’s face was distorted with fear 
and anger. 

“Jim’s been arrested?” he stammered chok- 
ingly. 


The Island in the Marsh 


255 


‘‘And half a dozen revenue men will be scourin’ 
these holes to-morrow, ’ ’ went on Lewis. ‘ ‘ They ’ll 
find you, don’t be afeard, if you stick to your 
job o’ bein’ watchman for a nigger.” 

Lewis’ father seemed to lose what courage he 
may have had up to that moment. 

“Where can I go!” he whined, “I ain’t got no 
money. I ain’t got decent clothes to go nowhere 
but in the swamps,” and he stepped back and 
glanced about as if escape might be through the 
grass and vines. 

“Don’t look at me,” answered Lewis bitterly. 
“I haven’t any money to help you.” 

Becky, her slender throat swelling and her tem- 
ples red, tried to speak. But her mouth seemed 
parched. Tears were in her eyes. Was Lewis as 
heartless as he seemed! Did he mean to drive 
his own father into the swamps — the pathless 
Everglades — as a fugitive from justice, that the 
old man might escape arrest and prison! The 
girl glanced from the fear-infested man to the 
white-faced son. 

“Oh, Mr. Ahlswede,” she cried at last, as an 
idea gave her voice, “it’s all true, just as Lewis 
says. I heard it all; they’re coming to-morrow 
and they’ll find you. You mustn’t stay here; 
you’ve got to leave right away!” The disconso- 
late smuggler seemed to shrink with helpless fear. 


256 


Captain Becky Winter Cruise 


‘^But you don’t need to run away; they don’t 
know you. ’ ’ 

‘‘Jupiter Jim ’ll tell ’em, never fear,” an- 
nounced Lewis. 

“Never,” exclaimed the grizzled man, with his 
first show of spirit. “Jim ’ll rot in jail first.” 

“Do you want to get away?” went on Becky, 
her eyes flaming and her fists clenched. 

“What’s the use?” mumbled the man. “I 
ain’t no place to go. They’ll be watchin’ the 
fishin’ grounds.” 

“Father,” broke in Lewis, and, for the first 
time, there was a little kindness in his voice. “I 
know what Miss Becky means. You ain’t been 
much like a father to me, but if she wants to help 
you I reckon I ought. If you don’t clean out o’ 
this place to-day, you ain’t never goin’ to have 

a chance to do better. If you don’t ” and the 

boy’s face grew hard again. 

“Yes,” exclaimed Becky, breathing fast, “that’s 
it. Lewis is the only one who can help you now. 
And you can help him, ’ ’ she added, with a gulp. 

“I ain’t no place to hide,” repeated the man, 
disconsolately. 

“You don’t need to hide,” the girl went on, 
her voice strained. “Lewis and I and my friends 
came here to-day pretending we were looking for 
something that was lost. Haven ’t you been lost ? ’ ’ 


The Island in the Marsh 


257 


she asked, a little piteously and with a quaver 
in her voice, ‘^and haven’t you been lost long 
enough? Please, Mr. Ahlswede, I’m awfully sorry 
for you, and I know Lewis is, too, in his heart. 
Let’s pretend we found you. Let us take you 
away from where you’ve been buried.” 

The bewildered man may not have understood 
wholly. He turned his old hat in his hands, with- 
out speaking. 

‘^She means you’re to go home, and stay,” 
explained Lewis, coldly. 

‘^Yes,” hastily added Becky, ^‘that’s it. Will 
you?” 

reckon I’d ought to,” answered the man 
finally, without emotion. 

^H’ll come for you at sundown,” announced 
Lewis, and Becky’s search for buried treasure 
was at an end. 

At three o’clock the Olivette made sail down the 
river for Fort Pierce. Before dusk Lewis, in the 
Red Bird, set out up the river again and, in the 
shadow of night, headed in for Coon Island and 
the tangled estuary behind it. Five days later 
the boy came down the river again and, sober of 
face as of old, resumed his work on the schooner. 

Living part of the time ashore in the little 
hotel at Fort Pierce, Mrs. Hatton seemed to grow 
fonder of her novel outing as the days slipped by. 


258 Captain Becky *s Winter Cruise 

At the end of a week she gave a party at the hotel. 
At the end of another week the Olivette turned 
homeward. But the Lodge was not forgotten. 
Here the sunburned travelers stopped nearly a 
week. 

But, five weeks from the day she set forth, the 
homelike schooner sighted the Melbourne pier 
once more. Becky ^s letters to her aunt had not 
prepared that doubting lady for the change she 
was to find in the girl. When the joy in Mrs. 
Fairfield’s face showed this — they were holding 
a little reception in the reading room of the 
Coquina and incidentally settling accounts with 
Captain Sam and his wife — Mrs. Hatton spoke up. 

‘‘Don’t believe your niece was the only one who 
profited. I’m so proud of my new daughter that 
I can scarcely wait to show Lucile to her father. ’ ’ 

“And where do I come in?” laughed Schuyler, 
big and bronzed. 

“You’ve learned how to take orders,” said his 
mother, with emphasis. “Miss Becky has done 
more with you than your father and I ever could. ’ ’ 

“An’ she’s cornin’ to visit us, too, this sum- 
mer, ’ ’ spoke up Euth. 

A little later Becky, by arrangement, met Lewis 
Ahlswede in Mr. Carlson’s store. 

“Well,” exclaimed the girl, cheerfully, as she 
broke into a conversation between Lewis and his 


The Island in the Marsh 


259 


friend the storekeeper. ‘‘What’d you find? How 
about it?^^ 

Mr. Carlson turned spokesman. reckon it’s 
all right,” he began. ‘‘The old man’s settled down 
an’ workin’ in the grove an’ garden like he was 
glad to get back. Your friend here,” and he 
nodded toward Lewis, “never come for the things 
you told me to give him, so, about a week ago, I 
switched the contrac’ to his father, knowin’ you 
wouldn ’t care. ’ ’ ^ 

Becky clapped her hands for joy. Lewis turned 
and looked out of the window. 

“The old man looked purty spruce,” went on 
Mr. Carlson, with a chuckle. Then his face 
sobered. “Lewis has been tellin’ me what yo’-all 
have fixed up for him. Miss Becky, he added, with 
apparent pride, “if yo’ ain’t a captain, they never 
was one.” 

The girl flushed. “Mrs. Hatton will arrange 
for him to go north,” she explained, “and per- 
haps go to school next year. Your father’s back 
now,” she went on, dropping her voice; “you’re 
goin’, aren’t you?” 

“Well,” answered the boy, nervously, “I ain’t 
takin’ orders from you no more, but I reckon I 
ought to go. Captain Becky!” 




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Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago 


Books for Older Children byL, Frank Baum 


The Daring Twins Series 

By L. FRANK BAUM 

I N writing “The Daring 
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Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago 


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BOOKS FOR GIRLS 
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SEVEN TITLES 

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